Stand in the Light
by avalynnelfe
Summary: "'cause the greatest risk we'll ever take is by far, to stand in the light and be seen as we are" Hermione just wanted it to end, to rest for the first time in her life. Instead, she was somehow transported to a different time and is now Hermione Dorea Potter. How can she fit into this world that is so similar, yet so different from what she knows? And isn't there a war coming?
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

* * *

Trigger Warnings: (heavily implied) rape, suicide, depression

* * *

All was dark around her.

She couldn't see, she couldn't move.

Her arms and legs fought against the restraints that chained her to the wall. With every second she grew weaker, until she couldn't even find the power to move anymore, and the only thing that could be heard was the sound of liquid dropping.

She wasn't stupid, she knew it was blood.

Her blood.

She was cold, freezing.

But she welcomed it, for it numbed the pain.

There was no doubt in her mind that she would die. Cold and alone, never to be found.

Oddly enough, that thought didn't disturb her as much as it used to.

Distantly, she remembered all the hardships she had taken upon her, so that she would survive. That her friends would survive. But now, it all seemed almost unreal, like a dream.

And what did it help her?

She might be alive, but she wasn't living.

In that precise moment, when she surrendered, stopped fighting, something happened, something shifted. She felt light, free.

And when she closed her eyes, for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt at peace.

* * *

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she awakened. Her eyes flattered open, but unlike every other time, she didn't get up immediately. Something felt different this morning. She felt at peace.

For the first time in the three years since the war had ended, she realized, she didn't have a nightmare, and she hadn't awoken screaming her throat out. She wasn't drenched in cold sweat, and there were no gruesome images just waiting on the forefront of her mind to invade her conscious thoughts and distract her.

Hermione had forgotten what it was like to not be tortured every night in her sleep, just to then go out and about, do her job, and while being successful, still not feeling happy. Positive, even just neutral, not negative feelings had become a foreign concept to her.

Not quite a smile on her face, she freed herself from her blanket and made her way to the bathroom, careful to not make any noise. Ron was still asleep, and while he probably also would stay asleep – after all she had started putting a charm on him every evening that muffled any noise around him after he had started complaining about her waking him up at least once or twice a night because of her nightmares –, Hermione always preferred to be safe rather than sorry.

Especially in this case.

While she changed her clothes and brushed her hair, her thoughts wandered. No, her husband did not abuse her. Ronald Weasley was just a very specific individual.

He and Harry were both instantly accepted into the Auror corps, war heroes and everything. And Hermione had been proud, of both of them. But that one kiss, that at least on her part had been more like a spur of the moment thing than anything else, had made him convinced they were meant to be.

She had never had the heart to tell him that the only reason she did it in the first place was that she didn't want him to die without having his single most desire at least partially fulfilled, when she had the power to do that for him. Unfortunately for her, that whole ordeal ended in a double wedding of Harry marrying Ginny and her marrying Ron at the Burrow.

Of course, Hermione could have done something, _anything_ , to stop that from happening, but with a determined Ron, an overexcited Mrs. Weasley, who used this opportunity to distract herself from the loss of one of her sons, and herself being shattered and broken, the wedding day had arrived and then it had already been too late.

Even before that, her whole energy was spent on keeping herself from falling apart completely, to function, and to get things done. To get up in the morning and go to sleep in the evening. And all the while paying attention to every single detail around her.

Not all Death Eaters were caught, and not all people were in awe of her. She now had a public image to uphold, not just as the Brightest Witch of her Age, but also as a war hero, as someone who played a crucial role in defeating the cruellest Dark Lord in British history.

Not to mention that there were still people out there trying to discredit everything she did, just because of her blood status.

Hermione's original plan had been to return to Hogwarts, maybe help with the reconstruction work that had to be done if she could, then complete her schooling, sit her NEWTs and then apply for a job at the Ministry, either in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures or if possible, the Department of Mysteries. If she could get over the trauma-like associations she had with it, that is.

Now, with her being not Hermione Granger anymore, but Hermione Weasley, things changed. Ron was a pureblood, and even though his views didn't match those of the purists, there were still some things he deemed appropriate that just seemed old-fashioned and outdated to her. Like him working and her staying home to take care of the children, for example.

Okay, they admittedly didn't _have_ any children at the moment, but it was about the principle.

When her husband came home, he expected his wife to be there, have cooked and cleaned and set the table, and be there to listen to his complaints about his day. For Hermione, that meant no chance of going to Hogwarts.

So what she did was apply for a low job at the Ministry, working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where Ron was working as well, doing almost exclusively paperwork – or more accurately, reading boring report after boring report, setting her signature under it and forwarding it to the archive.

That was actually the part of this whole mess she disliked the least. She hated that it kept her from fulfilling her potential, kept her from actually _doing_ something, and _changing_ things for the better. Appeasing the public with a profession like that was also not easy, but the one redeeming quality this job had for Hermione was that she could relax.

Not fully, never fully, but at least she wasn't under immediate scrutiny from anyone, and that was more than she got any other time of the day. The only people she saw were when she arrived and departed.

So, that said, no, Ronald Weasley did not abuse her. But what had become clearer and clearer to Hermione with every passing day was, that she didn't love Ron. Most times, she didn't even really like him. Oh yes, she put on a happy facade, practically all the time. In public, in front of her friends, in front of him. Although she herself wasn't happy, after all the suffering from the war, she couldn't take it away from Ron.

She just couldn't.

In the beginning, once she had realized what a big mess she had gotten herself into, she had had still hope. Hope that things would get better, and if they didn't, that _someone_ would realize and come rescue her. Or at least help her rescue herself. The only candidate for that would be Harry, however; only he knew her well enough to recognize any signs she might have possibly sent.

But how could she expect him to do that?

Every time they met, Hermione could see in his eyes that he was maybe not in the exact same situation, but close. He was traumatized, and him more so than her had the responsibility to lead the Wizarding World into better times.

As time progressed though, Hermione saw Harry healing. The haunted look in his eyes faded and was replaced with true, genuine happiness. He became more confident and took charge, soon becoming one of the top Aurors in the whole department.

And she couldn't fault him for it, but as his life went on and changed for the better, hers stayed the same, and no one noticed.

-oOoOo-

Hermione was standing at the stove, preparing breakfast, when she suddenly felt a pair of hands and arms encircle her waist. Instinctively, she flinched, before she caught the faint smell of a familiar shampoo. Turning her head, she looked at her husband sheepishly.

"Sorry, I was caught off guard", she said.

Ron smiled.

"What are you making me?", he asked.

Hermione turned back to the eggs and bacon she was frying, not answering.

"Hm?", Ron enquired.

He moved closer, his head resting on her shoulder, peeking at her cooking. Hermione's heartbeat got faster, as she tried to suppress the memories that surfaced, triggered by his actions.

She could feel the black curls tickling her face, the hard boning of the corset pressing into her back. The sweet breath as she heard the whispered words make their way into her ear, and felt the thing that made her freeze.

There was a knife, silver with pretty carvings and gems on the handle, pressed to her throat. Death was a mere second away, if she just had the courage to choose it.

"'Mione? Hey, 'MIONE!"

"OW!"

Hermione raised her hand to touch her burning skin, the cheek which Ron had just hit with all his force.

"Are you okay?", he asked, sounding slightly concerned. "You started to space out a little back there."

For just a split second, Hermione felt the undeniable urge to shout at him, scream and yell, and at least _try_ to make him understand what she'd been through these past years. Wanted to make him feel just as bad as she did, inflict the same pain and suffering on him that she had had to endure all this time. Not because of him, but also not in spite of him.

But that feeling was fleeting, gone so fast that she didn't even fully realize it had been here in the first place, and she just reacted the way she usually did when she didn't want to talk about something,

"I was just thinking about a book I've still not finished", she said, knowing that it would suffocate all of Ron's little interest that had been there in the first place.

He was a wonderful chess-player, no doubt, and – probably because of that – had a good eye for strategy, but just mention the existence of books and he would do his best to redirect the conversation.

"Oh, okay", Ron said, buying her excuse.

She felt relieved for just a moment, then she shoved that feeling aside as far away as she could. Her was her husband, she shouldn't lie to him, and even more so, she shouldn't be relieved if she succeeded. Or rather, when.

"How long 'till it's ready?"

Hearing Ron's voice redirected Hermione's attention back to the stove, where the breakfast was close to being finished. She looked up at him again, at least he was standing next to her rather than behind her now, and replied: "Just a minute, now."

She almost flinched again when she noticed Ron come nearer.

"Don't I get a good-morning kiss?", he asked.

 _NO!_

"Yes, of course. Sorry. I think I'm just distracted today", Hermione said.

As she rose to her tip-toes and touched her lips to her husband's, she wondered.

 _What is wrong with me? I've never forgotten kissing him. And I've never,_ ever _reacted that way to him suggesting anything..._

She felt Ron's tongue invade her mouth, and as was expected of her she responded in kind. But for the first time in her entire life, she felt fully and thoroughly disgusted with her actions.

-oOoOo-

Hermione looked behind her, making sure she didn't leave anything behind she might need and made her way to the door. Ron had left about two hours ago, and since then she had done the dishes, made their bed and cleaned their bedroom.

He didn't like it, but she had done it the muggle way. It was the only way she wouldn't feel useless, even though it would leave her with a lot less free time to read and study.

There was also another problem with that.

Ron had refused she buy any more books after he had seen how many of them she had at home and deemed important enough to take with her when moving in with him. So the only way she would get to read anything new was by going into a bookshop or library.

Ron didn't want her leaving the house, however, not on her own. It came with who she was. Public places were dangerous. She might be a national hero, but there were still people out there who wanted to get to her.

And there were other disadvantages that came with who she was. The tracking charm that was embedded in her wedding ring, for example. Of course, she could just take it off, but not to mention that Ron didn't like her leaving the house except for going to work when he wasn't with her, not only him, but also Harry would be alerted to her not wearing her ring anymore.

Hermione understood that it was merely a security measure, that, should she be kidnapped, they could find her, or at least know when someone took it off, and therefore have a better chance of protecting her should there be a malicious intent behind it, but as much as she appreciated the effort, she could not help but be annoyed by it, today even more so than usual.

She hated it, hated that she was so limited in her movements. She felt fury rise up in her, only to be replaced by a feeling of extreme sadness and helplessness.

Yes, she hated it, but what was there for her to do?

There was no on else could talk to, no one that would understand.

Hermione closed the door behind her firmly, determined to leave whatever it was that made her so miserable today behind as well.

* * *

As always, Hermione saw almost nobody at work. Her office was isolated and while that allowed her to work in peace, today she felt lonely, pure and simple. Not even walking to and from work all through London, or her actual work could distract her from that.

Contrary to popular belief, Hermione actually read the documents the was supposed to sign. She refused to set her signature under something when she didn't even know what it was.

In one file, she found an old _Prophet_ , from almost two months ago. She would bet that whoever had written the file had been reading it, instead of doing actual work, and accidentally filed it.

On the front page, there were three people, children still, smiling and waving. Two boys, and one girls in the middle, all wearing Hogwarts robes with the Gryffindor crest proudly presented on their chests.

The headline read **Three Year Anniversary – The Biggest Celebration Of All Time!**

She hadn't been there, when practically whole Britain had made their way to Hogwarts to celebrate the defeat of Lord Voldemort. Ron had insisted she stay home, there could be people wanting to harm her for the role she had played in the battle and all the years leading up to it.

She had protested of course, said that she was capable of defending herself, hadn't she proven that by surviving the war, and besides, there would be many people there, and Aurors on protection duty, but Ron had argued that she hadn't duelled in years, and she was still feeling under the weather because of the summer cold she'd had.

She _had_ been ill, and too tired to argue, so she had accepted his decision, but now, that she saw this photo of her and her two best friends from about ten years ago, her heart cracked just a little.

What had happened to her, that she didn't recognize the girl she saw in that photo anymore?

Hermione remembered being happy, being careless, and despite everything that she had already faced, being able to just let loose and smile and laugh and have fun.

But she hadn't felt like that in so long, it suddenly seemed impossible to ever do so again.

And for the first time, she almost wished she had died in the war, having lived a short but fulfilling life, instead of being where she was now.

Almost.

* * *

Several hours later, Hermione couldn't find anything more to do, she had spent more time at the office in one day than ever before.

That dread she felt when only thinking about going home, seeing Ron and having to actually deal with him got worse and worse with every second that passed.

Hermione took her time, tidying her already empty desk, looking in the mirror on her wall, studying her face. It was a curious thing that, although she had been feeling off the whole day, physically she looked better than she did in years. There were no rings under her eyes, and the haunted look, that had accompanied her gaze for the last three years almost wasn't visible anymore.

There was no happiness in her eyes, no sadness, but peace.

Hermione found herself yearning for that peace. If she were to see her reflection in the Mirror of Erised right at this very moment, she knew what she would see. The ultimate escape, the only true peace she could ever get.

In other words, death.

For just a second, she welcomed it, opened her heart to let it in and claim her forever. But then Hermione blinked, and shook her head, locked the door and went home, pushing whatever thoughts she might have had to the very back of her mind.

There were things she had to do, duties to fulfil. She couldn't afford to let these slide, not even for a moment. People would notice, and then, it would only get worse.

 _Don't I_ want _people to notice, though?_ , Hermione asked herself.

Only yesterday, she would have answered that question in the affirmative. But now? Something had changed. The whole way back to her flat, she brooded over that, but didn't find an answer.

It was late afternoon when she pulled herself together again and started to think about dinner. She hadn't had any lunch, but then again, that wasn't an exception anymore. For one reason or another, she either couldn't afford it, more time-wise than monetary-wise, or she just didn't feel like she deserved it.

Such a day was today.

Hermione didn't even think she deserved to eat a proper dinner. All thoughts she had had today were negative ones.

She shouldn't be sad, she should be happy. To be alive, to have survived. She should be happy that she had the chance to have a family, the chance that so many others didn't get. And she should be happy that she was even married in the first place.

Hadn't she been worried all her life that there would be no one who would voluntarily marry bossy, stuck-up Hermione Granger, who wasn't only an insufferable know-it-all, but also had impossible-to-tame bushy brown hair and way too large front teeth? Granted, her teeth were shrunk since fourth year, and her hair wasn't even nearly as bad as it used to be, but still. She knew she should at least be grateful for all that she had.

But she wasn't, and at this specific moment, she hated herself that she not only wasn't, but knew she never would, or even _could_ , be.

* * *

Dinner that night was awful. Hermione had been so distracted while cooking that half of it had burned, and the other half that didn't was just as bad. Ron, who apparently had had an exhausting day at the Ministry didn't take kindly to that, and what followed was the worst fight him and Hermione had ever had.

And they'd had some pretty bad ones.

"What is _this_ supposed to be?", Ron had asked with a voice full of contempt, pointing at the food.

"I'm sorry", Hermione said in a small voice. "I was distracted and..."

" _Distracted_?", Ron cut her off. "DISTRACTED?!"

Hermione flinched at his angry shout.

"You do not have the _right_ to be distracted! You are to cook for me, and keep the house clean, like a good wife! There is no room for _distractions_!"

Hermione watched silently as her husband worked himself into a state of rage she knew he wouldn't exit soon. She had experienced it often enough, be it targeted at her, or Death Eaters, or just Slytherins in general.

"I could...", she started, trying to at least pacify Ron a little bit, but that sorely backfired.

" _NO!_ ", he shouted. "You can't do anything. Not one simple thing, like cooking dinner, for example!"

 _Ow,_ that hurt.

Rationally, Hermione knew he didn't mean it, but all her life – especially in the last three years – there had been more and more times when she had just felt inadequate.

Stupid.

So hearing Ron, her husband, who was supposed to love her, unconditionally, say this, it not only stung, but it hurt.

A lot.

"Don't have anything smart to say now, hm?"

"I...", she started again, not even knowing where she wanted that sentence to go, what she wanted to say, only not wanting to stay quiet, not wanting him to have that satisfaction of seeing her speechless.

" _Nothing!_ "

Hermione unwillingly flinched and tried to make herself as small as possible when Ron advanced on her, his right hand held over his head.

 _Smack!_

Inhaling sharply, not daring to make a noise again, Hermione held her stinging cheek, tears forming in her eyes. It wasn't so much the physical pain – she was used to that, even after all this time – but the emotional one.

No matter how bad their fights had gotten, Ron had never _ever_ hit her, or even threatened to do so. It had been completely unexpected, and Hermione hated it.

"I'm the one in power here! And when I give you a command, you better follow it, do you understand?"

Hermione could merely nod. Ron's face relaxed, but only a little.

"Now, do you want to make it up to me?", he asked her.

She could hear he was still angry, so whatever he had in mind would be bad, but she wasn't in control of her body anymore, so shocked by her husband's previous actions, so she nodded again.

"I want you to say it out loud!", he commanded.

"I want to make it up to you", Hermione heard herself say.

Her voice was shaking.

"Good."

A cruel grin formed on Ron's face.

"Turn around!"

As if she was on auto-pilot, Hermione did what he said.

"Take off your knickers!"

Her hands were moving already, before the command had even really registered, and she felt the fabric moving down her legs, before she stepped out of it.

"Turn around!", Ron said again. "Give them to me!"

She did as he said.

"Good. Now..."

He stretched his hands forward and touched her thighs.

The moment Hermione felt his skin against hers, she came back to her senses though, and her first instinct told her to fight back.

So that's what she did.

She pushed Ron away from her, and as anger and hurt began to bubble up inside her – how could he _dare?!_ – she tried to flee the kitchen as quickly as possible.

Unfortunately for her, Ron caught her sleeve and she was forced back. Even worse, he was angry again.

No, not angry.

Furious.

His eyes were feral, shining with what she recognized to be something akin to bloodlust, and she knew she had screwed up.

-oOoOo-

Hermione awoke with a start, in the middle of the night. It was dark, and the moon that was shining through the window didn't do much to light the room.

Her memory was fuzzy. The last thing she could clearly remember was being pressed against the counter, helpless, while Ron angrily whispered in her ear all the things he was going to do to her.

Shivers made their way over her body at the thought, if it was from fear or something else, she couldn't tell. Also, she was cold.

And naked under her blanket.

It wasn't a comfortable feeling.

Somehow Hermione knew she wouldn't fall asleep again, so she decided to get up. She also noticed that it had been the second time in a row she hadn't awoken with a raw throat and the sound of her own screaming. As she rolled out of bed, she involuntarily groaned, and fell onto the floor.

She felt like shit. Every cell of her body hurt. It wasn't the worst she had ever endured, but it was a close second. The collision with the floor hadn't made it better, admittedly, but her body protested her every movement.

 _What the hell happened last night?_ , Hermione asked herself. _What did Ron_ do _? And why can't I remember?_

She continued to lie on the floor, thinking. It felt like she had been tortured, and then passed out.

Her breath caught in her throat.

 _He wouldn't!_

But even though she was still not sure about the torture part, if she hadn't been sleeping but been unconscious, it would certainly explain the lack of nightmares. And the bad feeling she'd been having ever since she had awakened.

NO!

She would _not_ believe her husband capable of torture. She couldn't.

It took her a while, but some time later, Hermione had convinced herself to move. It hurt a lot, but finally she was standing in the bathroom, facing the mirror.

She lit her wand, too afraid to light the whole room, and the moment she saw her reflection, she at first instinctively held her breath, before it became faster and faster. She didn't have to be the Brightest Witch of her Age to put together the puzzle pieces.

Her whole body was littered with bruises, most of them only starting to form. But that wasn't the worst of it. What was, though, what stood out to her was the positioning.

There was a hand print on her cheek – that one she could even remember getting – and her lips were swollen. There were bite marks all the way down her neck to her breasts, more that just a little too harsh to be mere hickeys, and both of her breasts bore not only 'hickeys' and the markings of fingers, but also dried blood that was unmistakably set free by Ron's teeth. Very much the same, if not worse, was the picture she saw between her thighs, bruises, bites, and dried blood running down.

She barely even noticed the fingerprints on both her wrists, before she lost consciousness yet again.

* * *

When Hermione woke again, it was because of a new pain.

She sat up slowly, already mostly used to the pain her bruises caused, and touched her hand to the back of her head. She flinched as she made contact. She must have hit her head on the bathtub when she fell backwards. And while it had bled, probably a lot, it luckily didn't anymore.

Also, she absolutely refused to clean that mess up. Indirectly, it was all _his_ fault, anyway.

Hermione almost laughed out loud when she realized she couldn't even bring herself to think his name anymore. The anger she had felt only a moment ago made way to something different.

How _could_ he?!

Never in her life, not in the Department of Mysteries, not after Dumbledore's death, not even after Bellatrix had carved 'Mudblood' into her skin, and hit her with the Cruciatus Curse more times than she could remember, had she ever felt that defeated.

The one thing, the only thing she had still had, even _after_ being more or less forced into this marriage was her free will in regards to their physical relationship. No, she had never _wanted_ to have any sexual interaction with Ron at all, but it had still been _her choice_.

And now? He had taken that from her as well. He had _forced_ himself on her. Marriage or not, in her rational mind Hermione _knew_ this was rape.

But, who would believe her? Were they not married? Were they not happy?

Despite her non-existing acting skills, everybody believed her. Everyone told stories of her and Ron's marriage to their children, the only one even more popular would be Harry's and Ginny's, and every single child out there wanted the exact same thing for him- or herself.

There was no one out there she could possibly talk to.

And even if there was, their wedding had be a magical one. It was binding. She didn't know the exact mechanics, but it had been traditional.

By now, she knew what Ron's idea of _traditional_ constituted of.

There was no way she could get out of that. The only way would be if Ron were to die. And even if there wasn't a clause against that, there was also no way she could ever murder her husband, no matter what. She would rather die herself.

Oh, how appealing that sounded.

Not having to live this life anymore, not having to feel the pain. To be free, floating, like in that dream she had the night before.

But that could never happen, never become reality.

Hermione knew it, and so much more, and for the first time in over three years, she could do nothing to stop her tears from falling.

* * *

It felt like hours later that Hermione finally stopped sobbing and started to breathe more regularly. It couldn't have been too long though, because from what she could tell, it was still dark outside.

As she sat on the floor, she felt empty. Maybe, on some level she had hoped crying would help, let out all the negativity. And, she supposed it had.

Only it seemed like there was nothing else left.

Hermione wasn't sad anymore, or angry, or even desperate. There was only emptiness, nothingness.

But while her thoughts were still wandering, unsorted without any real direction, the loneliness came. It was only logical. After that, there came the feeling of being lost, the devastation and dread Hermione had always associated with it. The desperation, and the sadness.

If she had to find a simile, she'd probably describe it as being captured by quicksand. Being sucked in, at first slowly, but then faster and faster, with no chance of survival.

 _Survive..._

 _Live..._

These two words resonated oddly in her mind, being turned over and over, without sense or purpose.

Did she even _want_ to survive this, like she did everything else?

Did she even _want_ to live with yet another experience, another memory, that would haunt her for the rest of her life?

Was it even _possible_ to continue, to move on from this, lead her life in the presence of someone who had violated her in such a cruel way, and, on top of that, fool the public into thinking everything was rosy and perfect?

Like it used to be?

Hermione couldn't suppress a bitter laugh at that thought.

It had _never_ been perfect. And now, even considering to return to that life, not even looking at how much worse it would be after this night, she was filled with devastation.

Tears sprung to her eyes again. She did her best to not let them fall, without success. She hugged her legs, sharply inhaling at the stab of pain that went through her body at the movement, and rested her head on her knees.

Hermione knew herself, and she knew she wouldn't ever recover.

She wouldn't ever get over this.

But she didn't even _want_ that anymore. She didn't _want_ to be happy, or have fun, or fall in love. The only thing she wanted was to be rid of all this. She wanted to be free, she wanted to be left alone, she wanted rest, and above all, she wanted peace.

 _Rest in Peace..._

She had heard these three words so often, after the war.

And in this very moment, there was nothing Hermione wouldn't give to be like one of the many people whose funerals she had attended. Lying in their coffins, motionless, their soul departed.

They didn't feel anymore, didn't suffer. They had moved on, maybe even to a better place, another realm maybe, where they were careless and free.

There was nothing she wouldn't give to be one of them right now.

* * *

After yet another period of time that felt like eternity, during which Hermione continued sitting on the floor, staring into the empty space, the sun came up and she finally found the will to move again. She really didn't want to face her husband, not now and not ever, and so she got dressed as fast as she could, and left their home.

On the streets, everything was still quiet, it wasn't even fully day yet, and it seemed like Hermione was the only living soul that was out and about, walking aimlessly through the alleys. She enjoyed the absence of voices and movement, enjoyed the peace that was overlaying seemingly the whole world.

It was something she wished could last forever.

But she knew it wouldn't.

In only a few hours time, it would be gone, replaced by noise and people hurrying down the streets to get to work on time.

It all seemed to be so far away, like she was in a dream, or in parallel universe.

The Afterlife.

Hermione longed for a place like this, that wouldn't be just the picture of a moment, but a never ending film, with herself in the main role. She wished she could be there, live that, even if it meant she had to die first.

As the sun rose higher, people in their houses started to wake up, what had been quiet just seconds before came alive.

Hermione hated it.

It reminded her that there was _nothing_ she had to live for, no reason to survive. She wanted to go away, as far as possible, have a new life, and another chance.

Didn't everyone talk about life after death?

A new, clean slate, the possibility to start over?

It wasn't only a wish anymore, or a longing, or a desire. Hermione felt it in every cell of her body, something pulling her, calling her.

She supposed that was the feeling that some people got, people that knew they would die. It was Death, calling them to his side, to his realm.

And now it was her time, and she would take that chance. It was like an inner light that no one could see, a thread that she followed, and Hermione turned on the spot, only to find herself hovering over a huge lake, the black water reflecting the rising sun like a mirror, completely still.

Looking around, she recognized Hogwarts in the distance, the spot where once had been Hagrid's hut, and she was overwhelmed by sadness and regret all over again.

For more than three years she hadn't laid eyes on the grounds, hadn't seen all the progress that was made, but even now, the picture that would not disappear from her inner eye was how it had looked directly after the battle, everything lying in ruins, blood and dead bodies everywhere. She didn't even question how she had breached the Anti-Apparition wards that had been reinforced many times by various curse breakers, nor how she was able to stay afloat in the air without any noticeable effort on her part.

The only thing Hermione was focused on were her emotions, all the pictures that were rewinding over and over again in her head, and the pain that flared back up, lighting her body on fire, every injury she's ever gotten, bleeding, aching, hurting, all at the same time.

And the last thing she consciously remembered was her magic giving in and her falling into the ice cold water of the Black Lake, before she was swallowed by it and sank slowly to the ground.

* * *

 **WARNING: long author's note ahead.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. The fact that this is published on a FANfiction site should be enough to make that obvious, but whatever. Here you have it. This disclaimer counts for all following chapters of this story, as well as this one. I am not making any money from doing this, and like all other fanfiction writers out there, I do this for my own pleasure. Thank you.**

 **now, on to the other stuff that could be important:**

 **1\. This story will be updated whenever I finish writing and editing a chapter. I hope it won't ever take more than two weeks, but I can't promise anything.**

 **2\. English is not my first language, and I don't have a beta. Mistakes are therefore inevitable.**

 **3\. I'm open to (constructive!) criticism. Feel free to tell me where I've made mistakes, and I will do my best to fix them.**

 **4\. Generally, I will always try and answer questions in reviews per PM. If the answer would be a spoiler, however, you're out of luck.**

 **5\. If you have any suggestions on what should happen in the future, or ideas or anything else, they're very welcome. I can't guarantee they will make it into the story, but if they don't interfere with the general plotline I've set up, I don't see why I shouldn't work them in.**

 **6\. This will be a long story. I don't know how long exactly, but I tend to make stuff very detailed, and I don't plan on many major time skips, so...**

 **7\. The song that inspired this story's title and underlying theme is not mine. It is called 'Stand in the Light', was written by Lauren Christy and Stephen Moccio, and is performed by Jordan Smith.**

 **I don't think I forgot anything, but if I did, feel free to tell me in the reviews. And in general, if you feel like it, please review.** **It would make my day!**


	2. Interlude I

**Interlude**

* * *

The sun was only starting to rise, it was still dark outside. She marvelled once again how, even though it was the end of May, the night still was as cold as if it were a warm winter day. One could only imagine the freezing temperatures it would be in the actual cold time of the year.

Not that she cared.

She wasn't immune to the cold, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. Too many times, it had soothed her bruises and injuries. It made her feel safe.

Like every day, ever since she could remember, she was on her way outside to watch the sun rise. It had been tradition, in the beginning. Then, it had been required for her training. And now, for a few years, it had been a reminder.

She had survived yet another day.

And there was a new day ahead of her, full of challenges, some unknown, some the same as always. It was a reminder for all that she had survived already, and for all that still lay ahead of her. She was playing a dangerous game, she knew that. But she also knew that if it wasn't her, who else? There _was_ no one else.

Her steps followed a familiar path, down the hill towards the forest. She knew it was forbidden to enter it. And still, she did, every day. Sometimes just sitting at the outer edge, sometimes going further in, exploring. Sometimes climbing the trees, sometimes watching all the various creatures, lost in thought.

She passed the lake, and then the little wooden hut near the forest, where the Gamekeeper lived. He, like everyone, was still asleep. There was a faint snoring to be heard, like always.

Only hours later, the whole place would be buzzing with life, people rushing, talking, laughing. But she enjoyed the solitude of the morning hours. It was the only time of the day she could truly be herself, without being watched.

Of course, she still had to pay attention, be careful, but even if she was caught, it wasn't forbidden to be up early. It might rise some questions, sure, she thought as she entered the forest, but none she wouldn't be able to answer.

Today, she didn't go far in. She chose a tree, just out of sight, and climbed to one of its lower branches, making herself comfortable. If she was quiet enough she could hear the life around her, the tiniest animals, awake already, searching for something to fill their stomach with. Birds were chirping, and when she closed her eyes she could hear soft waves splashing on the shore of the lake.

It was idyllic.

She closed her eyes and let the environment envelop her. When she opened her eyes again, she didn't know how much time had passed. The sun had risen however, and it was clear she would have to leave soon.

So, taking in one last deep breath, she braced herself for what was to come – just a regular day like every other – and jumped down from where she had been sitting. It was surely more than ten feet, but when one did it every day, one tended to get used to it.

She was on her way back, just out of the forest, when she heard a splash. Out of reflex, her head turned in the direction, but the only thing she could see was little waves, seemingly originating from somewhere in the lake. She looked around, trying to find what or whomever had caused this, but couldn't detect anybody.

The lake was too large for her to see anything concrete, but the water looked weird, at the place where the waves seemed to originate from.. Like there was something in it, something that was not a stone. If she didn't know better, she might have taken it for a person.

But that was impossible. How would one even get so close to the middle without anyone else to help them? And _why?_

Nonetheless, her curiosity was piqued. She wanted to know what exactly was in there. What would be the best way to get it to where she was, though?

She supposed that summoning could work. However, she didn't fancy being knocked over by whatever it was. Unfortunately, that was the only idea that came to mind, as well. She just hoped she could cancel the spell in time, otherwise it could get quite ugly.

Taking out her wand – she never went anywhere without it – she prepared herself. The spell would have to be strong enough to get whatever it was out of the lake, which was already hard to calculate, as she didn't know either the distance nor the weight of the object, but it shouldn't be too strong, otherwise the object would be too fast for her to stop.

It was a risk, but not nearly as big as all the other risks she had taken so far in her life, so that wouldn't stop her.

Focusing on her magic, drawing it out just like she had learned years ago, she whispered one word.

" _Accio!_ "

The thing began moving, rising up while at the same time, closing the distance to she shore, and to her. It rose out of the water, and while she couldn't tell one hundred percent from where she was standing, it looked suspiciously like a human being. The nearer it came, the clearer it was.

'It' was not an it, but a she. She had long brown hair, and her skin was pale. She was skinny, wearing muggle clothes, and the red hand print on her cheek didn't look pleasant.

It was shocking, seeing something so unexpected. She froze, and only the impending crash of the two bodies got her moving again, if only to cancel the spell. The other girl, for she didn't look much older than her, fell unceremoniously on the grass to her feet. Pocketing her wand, she knelt down, searching for a pulse.

She found none.

The girl wasn't breathing, no doubt there was water in her lungs, and her skin felt cold to the touch. For a short moment, she panicked. What was she supposed to do now? She couldn't just take a corpse back with her. That would be a one way ticket to prison, something she didn't exactly fancy getting. But she also couldn't let the girl lie here, could she? She would be discovered, and there would be procedures, and there was no way they wouldn't find her magical signature on her.

She could throw her back into the lake. It was the easiest solution, no one would ever be the wiser. Something made her hesitate, though. She didn't know what, didn't understand what was happening.

It wouldn't be the first time she would hide a corpse.

Something was familiar about that girl. She looked back down at her, contemplating. She had to do something, now, because it wouldn't be long before everyone else awoke and she would be discovered.

And she wasn't stupid, she knew how it would look. That was _not_ an option.

Time was running out!

There had to be a solution to this, there just _had_ to be! She could feel her magic acting up, something it had not done in many years, and that only fuelled her panic more. Whenever that had happened, it didn't end well.

The single positive thing she could see in this situation was that except a corpse, there were no witnesses to her loss of control.

A coughing sound sounded in her ears.

Startled, she turned around, fully expecting a teacher, or worse, someone who _knew_ standing behind her, wanting _something_ she didn't want to give.

But there was nobody.

The sound had come from below, from the girl she had not only believed, but confirmed to be dead. That threw her so much off balance that oddly, her magic calmed again.

The girl was doubling over now, coughing up water, mixed with what looked like blood. When that fit stopped, she raised her hand to her head, obviously she was in pain, and whispered " _fuck_ ". Her voice was hoarse, to be expected if one were honest, after having drowned.

Or almost drowned. Whatever.

She was sitting up, and appeared to be trying to find her balance. Apparently that had been too much already, as she fainted, not even noticing the person standing next to her. It took her a little while, but once she got over the shock and was able to at least partially think straight again, she was relieved.

Because the girl wasn't dead, obviously.

But there was something else, deep down, that she didn't even want to acknowledge. She was glad the girl was alive, because that got her out of having to explain her death, and trying to convince people she didn't do it. Now she didn't have to deal with all the unwanted attention, from both sides, and the stigma it would give her. With her second thought, she scolded herself, both for her feelings, and for not getting help as fast as possible.

Only a second later, she realized she could never carry the other girl to the Hospital Wing without breaking down, and she didn't know enough magic to levitate her either, at least if she wanted to be safe.

Also, both options would slow her down considerably.

So what she did was break into a full on sprint, over the grounds, into the castle and up the stairs to where help would be. When she arrived at the Hospital Wing, the doors were still closed. So she did something she never had before, and banged against the wood, quite forcefully. Only when she could hear movement behind those doors she relented.

Lucky for her, there were no other patients that had stayed overnight, and that she could have awakened, as she could clearly see once the doors opened by the matron.

"Miss Black!", she exclaimed surprised. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be asleep? And why are you so out of breath?"

If she hadn't been struggling for air, she would have cut off the matron, but alas, it was not possible. She knew she was sweating, face probably red as a tomato, and her hair was in disarray. If anyone was to see her in this state, and subsequently report back to their parents, she was sure there would be suffering ahead, at least for presenting herself so unladylike, if not for more.

But her mind was preoccupied with more important things, such as the life of another human being. "Madam Pomfrey! There's – a girl – unconscious – outside!", she got out in between breaths.

Immediately, Madam Pomfrey's demeanour changed from the usual stern and slightly reprimanding to full on professional. Her wand whipped out and she summoned a small bag. An Emergency Potions Kit, presumably.

Madam Pomfrey looked sharply at her, and commanded: "Lead the way!"

Still out of breath, but not about to give up, she gave her best to run as fast as possible to get help for the unconscious girl. Even though there were none in the main corridors of the castle yet, students had started to awaken and could be heard moving around, getting ready for breakfast.

Paying no further attention to that, they hurried on, but she was falling behind more and more. Most of her energy she had already used up to fetch help in the first place. Both exited the front gates at roughly the same time, but that was only because Madam Pomfrey had to invest valuable time to open them, in which she could catch up.

In this very moment, she hated that she didn't have enough stamina to keep up. True, now that the matron was alerted, it didn't make all that much of a difference anymore, she would be able to find her way on her own just fine, seeing as the girl was lying in plain sight, but that thought didn't even cross her mind once. When she stepped out of the shadows of the castle, she was hit in the face by sunbeams, dawn had passed.

The other girl, unconscious on the ground by the lake, was hard to miss. As it did everything else, the sun hit her, and the light was reflected by the drops of water that were still clinging to her. She looked almost ethereal, lying there in the sunlight, practically sparkling, but there was no time to enjoy the sight, only appreciate it for but a moment.

The nearer she came, the more apparent was the lack of rising and falling of the girl's chest. It almost sent her into a panic again. What if she had stopped breathing again, and now was really dead?

Before the feeling of helplessness and regret could fully settle in though, Madam Pomfrey, who had fallen to her knees beside the unconscious girl, exclaimed: "Thank Merlin, she's breathing!"

It was too faint to notice from even a small distance, but apparently, it was there. And, at least at this point in time, that was enough for her. When she arrived next to Madam Pomfrey, she had already performed a spell that caused all the water left in the girl's lungs to be expelled from her mouth, as was visible by the small fountain shooting out of it.

While the matron was busy doing her work – casting spells and administering potions – and at the same time, murmuring to herself, the Black girl was still trying to catch her breath. At the same time, she gave her best to pay as much attention to what Madam Pomfrey was doing as possible.

Considering her way of life, knowing the one or other thing of healing, other than the most basic potions that you learned at school, would undoubtedly come in useful. Probably also sooner rather than later, no matter that she _really_ did not want that.

How many times had she already cursed the fact that books about Healing were highly regulated?

She didn't even know anymore. And it was just her luck that the only branch of magic that wasn't more than mentioned in any of the thousands of books in her family library would be the most interesting for her.

Vital, even.

Unfortunately, that could also be applied in the literal sense. Vital, that is.

During the whole process, the unconscious girl was mainly unresponsive, but once Madam Pomfrey finished, she suddenly opened her eyes. It was just for a split second, and if she hadn't been paying attention, she surely would have missed it, but for that tiny fragment of a moment, their eyes locked.

The other girl displayed confusion, then fear, uncertainty followed, before they broke contact by falling closed again.

Weird.

Madam Pomfrey, none the wiser, levitated the girl upwards, holding her things in the other hand, that didn't hold her wand.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Miss Black", she said. "I don't know how it happened, or what happened, but one minute later and Miss Potter might not have been among us anymore."

"No problem, Madam Pomfrey", she answered with a smile, while her thoughts were spinning out of control.

Madam Pomfrey left, headed towards the Hospital Wing, while the other girl sank down to the ground slowly, stunned.

That was why the unconscious girl had seemed familiar. She was the eldest and only Daughter of the House of Potter. Hermione Dorea Potter, Gryffindor, Fifth Year, Prefect.

And everything she dreamed of being.

The perfect role-model, the only girl in the whole school she simply looked up to. Everything Hermione Dorea Potter stood for was what she wanted for herself, what she wanted to be and stand for herself.

But she also knew that that was a dream, and a dream only. She was a Black, and like all Blacks, she was also a Slytherin.

She was the exact opposite of Hermione Potter, and there was nothing she could change about that, no matter how badly she wanted to.

* * *

 **So, which Black daughter's POV do you think this was written from?**

 **I wanted this scene to stand alone, that's why it's an Interlude and not a proper chapter. Chapters will be much closer to the Prologue in length that this Interlude.**

 **Thank you for reading, and if anyone of you is a writer yourself, you know: Reviews a writer happy make :)**


	3. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

* * *

Opening her eyes proved to be a lot more difficult than she had expected it to be. Her lids felt heavy, and seemed to almost be glued together with what she supposed were dried tears.

Weird. She couldn't remember having cried. But then again, all of her memories and recollections were a blur. They were there, sure, but it was no clear pictures, no definite information. Only a big mixture she couldn't make any sense of.

Her mind felt fuzzy, as well. She supposed it had probably to do with the lack of memories.

When she finally got her eyes open, she immediately closed them again, feeling as if she were being blinded by the light. She was still way too weak to move any other parts of her body, but that didn't stop her from taking account of her situation and surroundings.

She was lying on her back, covered by a blanket, in a bed. The brightness suggested either sunlight or artificial light, reflected by white walls. There was a disgusting taste in her mouth, and it reminded her of the time when she was searching for the horcruces, when they hadn't had the means to brush their teeth for weeks if not longer.

Cleaning charms could only do so much, and as a dentist's daughter, it was doubly uncomfortable.

Hermione peeked through her closed eyelids again, trying to get used to the light around her. She didn't know where she was, but she also knew that she would never find out while keeping her eyes closed. It took her some time, but after a while she was not only able to keep her eyes fully open, she could also turn her head, and move her fingers and toes.

On both sides next to her, there were unoccupied beds, all the same. It reminded her of a hospital. But, that could be the case, could it?

Trying to sort through her memories proved to be rather unfruitful, it didn't provide any reason or explanation for her current state. She did notice, though, that she remembered her name now, Hermione Granger, and various seemingly unconnected scenes of her and two boys, talking, arguing, surviving.

She wondered how she wasn't alerted the moment this part of her memories had come back, like having a flashback or something similar. She didn't like not having an answer for that question. She had never liked not knowing and/or understanding something, even when she was still alive.

 _Wait_ , she thought to herself after that unconscious remark, _does that mean I am dead?_ The answer to that came in form of another memory, being presented to Hermione, again, not in a flashback, but just in the sudden appearance of a piece of knowledge that she had previously not had.

That in return caused a whole set of other things to become clear.

Her despair, her marriage to Ron, all the events that had lead up to that, the war, their first kiss, the pressure from everyone around her, and even every single argument she and Ron had ever had throughout their time at Hogwarts. The recollection of that one Halloween that had started it all, the troll, and recalling Harry Potter was catalyst to a whole new series of memories, becoming clear, though not unfolding before her eyes.

It was unlike anything she had ever heard of before, be it in books or real life. All that had taken mere seconds to transpire, and while there were still a lot of things clouded in confusion, muddled together until they became unrecognizable, Hermione none the less felt like she had gotten the biggest part of who she was back together.

She figured there would be further instances like this one, where one stray thought would cause a whole string of knowledge to be released. And she could wait, it wasn't like she didn't have the time.

She was dead after all.

She assumed she was in a kind of limbo at the moment, the passageway between life and death. True, Harry had told her it looked like a very clean King's Cross, but he had also said that, according to Dumbledore, it was different for everybody.

Her body felt heavy, weak, but she still pushed herself to move. She had to leave, go on to what the Headmaster had dubbed as 'the next great adventure', and Hermione was sure that, in order to do that, she only had to leave the hospital she had found herself in.

She scowled at how difficult it was to get out of the sheets, that had been tucked firmly around her. Once she managed to sit up, the world began spinning. Bringing her hand up to her head, Hermione wondered why this was happening.

Didn't being dead imply that your soul was no longer anchored to your body, and therefore, things such as dizziness shouldn't be apparent? Or maybe, she mused, death really _was_ what Dumbledore had said. _The next great adventure..._ A second chance, in a new world, with a new body.

The moment the room around her started to come into focus, however, Hermione all but abandoned the train of thought. She recognized where she was.

Even though Harry had a substantial lead on her, she also had spent no little amount of time in this place, especially in her second year. The Hogwarts Infirmary looked only slightly different from how Hermione remembered it. And even as she noticed this, she couldn't put her finger on what exactly was the difference.

The light she now knew to be the sunshine, as her shadow was cast on the white sheets before her. She had one of the beds that had the head facing the window, as was also obvious by the the row of beds opposite her, aligned to the wall.

In the silence, Hermione could hear paper moving, someone murmuring to themselves. She wasn't alone in here. When that thought crossed her mind, immediately the sound coming from Madam Pomfrey's office stopped, and steps could be heard.

 _Is someone going to come and lead me to wherever I need to go, like Dumbledore did with Harry? But who?_

Her question was instantly answered by the door opening and a woman stepping out. She had an uncanny resemblance to Madam Pomfrey, only that she seemed to be _a lot_ younger. Could she perhaps be her mother, who had died at a young age?

Mrs Pomfrey, as that was what Hermione had determined she would call her, had a smile on her face as she came closer to Hermione's bed. She didn't even try to understand why someone whom she had never met would be her guide to the Afterlife. It bothered her, but with the first words that Mrs Pomfrey spoke, that was the last thing on her mind.

"Glad to see you have finally awakened Miss Potter", the (probably) healer said.

 _Miss_ _ **Potter**_ _?! I'm not married to Harry, Ginny is. And even if I was, shouldn't it be_ _ **Mrs**_ _Potter, then?_

"Um...", was the only thing Hermione answered.

What was she supposed to say?

"My name's not Potter, Mrs", she added after a moment of thought.

Mrs Pomfrey looked surprised at that.

"You don't remember your own name?", she asked, stunned.

"Yes, I do", Hermione replied. "It's Hermione, Ma'am. Hermione Granger."

"No, dear, it's Hermione Potter."

Hermione wanted to argue against the woman, insisting that she was right, why wouldn't she know her name? But the words caught in her throat. Behind Mrs Pomfrey there was another woman, approaching her. And it was someone she had never seen before in her life, or if she had, she couldn't remember.

The woman looked like she was in her late thirties, had shoulder length blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Her lips adorned a friendly smile, nonetheless Hermione's instincts kicked in. Her muscles tightened as she tried to get up fully, grab her wand and send the first spell that came to her mind to alleviate the potential threat.

 _Tried_ being the key word in this situation.

Hermione couldn't move one bit, it was as if she was petrified, even though she wasn't. She knew what that felt like, and it wasn't this. So, instead of taking action, she began to panic.

Dead or not, if this woman chose to attack her, she knew there was nothing she could do to defend herself. Or, maybe she could, wandless magic was, after all, not unheard of, but while she had managed it on occasion, it had been first year spells, and even those had not been very powerful.

Adding that right now, she was definitely _not_ in the best of shapes, what with the dizziness and the fatigue she was still feeling, and there was not a chance she could get out of this situation.

If it even was a hostile one, she forced to remind herself.

"Don't be afraid", Mrs Pomfrey said.

Apparently her feelings had showed more that Hermione had anticipated.

"That's Healer Azaria Winters, she's apprenticing to take over the Administration Office at St. Mungo's, and is undoubtedly one of the best healers there are."

The woman, who obviously was Healer Winters, stepped next to Mrs Pomfrey, smiling.

"Pleased to finally properly meet you, Miss Potter", she said, holding out her hand.

Shakily, Hermione took it with her own.

"Pleased to meet you, as well", she replied while inwardly chastising herself.

 _Stupid! What's wrong with you, Hermione? With your overreactions you're only making it harder. Stop it! Besides, you're dead. There's nothing she can do to further harm you._

"If you don't mind, I'd like to cast a few diagnostic spells on you before I will notify your parents of your changed condition", Healer Winters said.

"Sure", Hermione answered.

What else was she supposed to say? No? If the Healer wanted to make sure she was healthy before moving on to the Afterlife, who was she to hinder her? As Hermione felt the magic of the spells sweeping over her, her thoughts caught onto another detail Healer Winters had mentioned.

Her parents. Were they here? After the war had ended, she didn't have any opportunity to go to Australia to find them and hopefully return her memories, with all the chaos still prevailing over whole Magical Britain. And then, when the country had finally calmed down, she had already been as good as married to Ron.

That brought forth a whole 'nother set of emotions, rising in her chest, before she pushed them back down rather forcefully. Now was not the time nor place to reflect on the circumstances that led to her even being here in the first place.

Hermione focused her attention back outwards, just in time to see various numbers and signs in different colours, floating around her, before they suddenly dissipated into smoke.

"Good news, Miss Potter", Healer Winters commenced, but was immediately interrupted by Hermione.

"Granger, ma'am. Please."

The Healer's eyes momentarily flashed in confusion, before she seemingly accepted the fact and moved on.

"Miss Granger, then", she continued.

Hermione relaxed at that, if only for such a slight bit that it went completely unnoticed.

"As you might have been able to tell already, your muscles are extremely cramped from lying still for such a long time, and I believe that for the next week or so, you will need assistance for walking, if not more. Furthermore, despite the potions sustaining you, you are quite undernourished, and will therefore have a potions regime worked out for you so you gain back the weight you have lost. Your throat has been healed, as have your lungs, but nonetheless you might have some trouble breathing when exerting yourself, as not everything can be healed by magic alone. Also, it was magical exhaustion above all that has kept you in this coma, so I would advise you to tone down on your magic use for at least a few days until you are fully regenerated. By far the most troubling thing that I have found, however, is that there are two ages displayed in the diagnostic, sixteen and twenty-two..."

"But how's that possible?", Hermione exclaimed shocked. "I'm twe-", and she cut herself off. "Wait... Maybe mental and physical age? But no... that can't be it... There's no way I'm only sixteen mentally..."

Hermione didn't even notice that she was thinking aloud, nor that the two other women that were privy to whet was going on in her mind at the moment were listening as hard as the could, hoping to get an explanation for a phenomenon that had been unheard of up until that moment.

"Maybe... I'm dead, so... The age I died versus the age I appear to be physically? No... Argh!"

Hermione threw her hands up, irritated with herself, and only then registered the other two people, staring at her.

"You believe yourself to be dead?", Mrs Pomfrey asked.

"Why?", Healer Winters added.

They were visibly confused by Hermione's admission.

"Isn't it obvious?", she replied. "I died. So, I'm dead."

If anything, their gazes became even more bewildered, before Healer Winters snapped out of it and adopted a fully professional expression once again.

"My dear, you did not die. In fact, you are very much alive, although, from what I've heard, it was a close call."

Now it was Hermione's turn to be confused. There were so many things that seemingly didn't add up, and the only possible, and also plausible explanation for that was the Afterlife. And now, she was being told she wasn't dead after all?

Maybe Healer Winters had been here for such a long time she had forgotten all the events before her passing and was now operating under the impression this was her life? That didn't explain her two ages, however.

"And now?", Hermione asked.

"Now, we will keep you here for another short period of observation, and then, we will message your parents so they can take you back to your home. There will however be a few rules you will have to follow to ensure your healing further progresses", Healer Winters answered.

And there was the thing with her parents again. There was no way they were talking about the same people. Emma and Richard Granger were living in Australia under the names of Monica and Wendell Wilkins, unawares they even had a daughter. So...

"Who _are_ my parents?", Hermione asked.

Mrs Pomfrey gasped.

"You don't remember them?"

Sadly, Hermione shook her head. She _hated_ not remembering. Or rather, remembering all the wrong things. Apparently, she was Hermione Potter now, and Hermione Granger's memories would do nothing to help her in this situation.

"Charlus and Dorea Potter, my dear", Mrs Pomfrey said.

The wheels began turning in Hermione's head, and surely enough, she had heard these names before. Or read them, on the family tree at Grimmauld Place. One night, after she had discovered its existence, she had sneaked down and studied it, for hours. And those two names had been one of the many she had noted, in this case as possible relatives of Harry's.

She had hoped that maybe they were still alive and willing to take her best friend in for the summer months. Anything to get him away from those horrible Dursleys. She never _did_ find out the extent of their abuse, but she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Hermione knew she tended to lash out when angry, and with the amount of magic she knew, someone was bound to get hurt. Not a risk she was sure she wanted to take.

"Hermione?", she heard a voice ask. "Are you all right?"

She shook herself from her reminiscing and focused back to the world around her. Her hand had formed fists and there was a light breeze around them, laden with magic.

"Yes, sorry, just lost in memories", she replied, while forcing herself to relax.

Apparently, thinking about Harry and the Dursleys had produced a more emotional reaction than she had anticipated.

"So you remember?", Healer Winters asked, her voice soft but still professional.

Hermione nodded.

"Yes, I do", she said, even though she most certainly didn't.

She didn't have the energy to further discuss the matter. Finding out she wasn't dead after all, or at least assuming so, was quite shocking news and she didn't even want to know what the other two women thought of her now. That alone would suffice to send her into another mental breakdown.

She had always cared more about the opinions of others than she should.

Meanwhile, Healer Winters and Mrs Pomfrey continued casting various spells, most of which Hermione didn't recognize. She would have to learn more about Healing, and soon. If she was right in her assumption, she had been sent back in time and now was somehow related to Harry. James Potter's sister, if she wasn't completely misremembering.

That would make her Harry's aunt, she suddenly realized, and she couldn't help but think how weird that was.

Anyways, going from what she knew about pureblood society, there wouldn't be more than a few years difference between her and James, which meant that if she was now in her fifth or sixth year, being officially sixteen and all that, James could be anywhere between his second year and already having passed his NEWTs.

And that, in turn, meant that the First Wizarding War against Voldemort was somewhere between breaking out and its sudden ending which led to Harry being declared the Boy-Who-Lived. Shortly said, they were living in a time of war, and they would undoubtedly get hurt or injured.

And hence Hermione wanting to learn Healing Magic.

"Miss Potter?", Hermione heard a voice ask.

It seemed that it had not been the first time.

 _This will get some getting used to,_ Hermione thought, _answering to a different name. At least I got to keep 'Hermione'._

"Hm, yes?", she asked. "We ran every test we could think of and it looks like you are, overall, fine."

Hermione smiled at Mrs Pomfrey's words.

"Healer Winters will message your parents to pick you up. Please remember, though, to cut down on any activities, be they physical or magical, for some time to allow your body and magical core to fully recover."

Hermione nodded.

"I am allowed to read, though, am I not?", she suddenly asked.

She didn't know what she would do if that was denied to her as well. Probably die from boredom. Not to mention all the things she still had to research, now that she was part of one of the most prestigious pureblood families of Great Britain.

Her worry must have shone through her words, because Mrs Pomfrey smiled at her reassuringly.

"Of course you can read. It doesn't fall under either of the two categories I just mentioned. And besides, who am I to keep _you_ from your books?"

The was a twinkle of mirth in Mrs Pomfrey's eyes as she said that last sentence, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if Hermione Potter had been as much of a bookworm as she was, before, well, everything. It certainly seemed that way.

Which was good, Hermione supposed, because she didn't want anyone to know she wasn't a Potter but Hermione Granger, and she didn't think she could give up her books, only to convincingly play this character.

"Your parents will bring you some robes to change into, once they arrive, so you need not worry about that", Mrs Pomfrey said. "Your wand is on the table beside you, as are various things from many of your well wishers. You may take them with you, if you wish to do so."

Hermione turned her head, and for the first time noticed all the cards and sweets that seemed to be overflowing the table. Her wand was also there, but with a little pang of disappointment Hermione realized that it wasn't _hers._

It was Hermione Potter's.

Logical, now that she thought about it. She didn't know what she had been expecting, to be honest. She only hoped it would still work for her, as she didn't know enough of wandlore to be sure.

Not for lack of effort on her part, though. There just weren't a lot of books on the subject.

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey", Hermione said. And immediately cursed herself. She didn't _know_ that it was Madam Pomfrey, she had just assumed a relation of some sort. The words had come out almost automatically, and now she would have to deal with the fallout of her mistake.

"Enjoy your holidays, Miss Potter", _M_ _rs_ Pomfrey answered, but Hermione hardly acknowledged her, only nodded.

She hadn't corrected her. So, Madam Pomfrey seemed to be correct. She hadn't screwed anything up with her carelessness. _Thank god!_

She didn't know if she wanted the matron to leave or not. On one hand, she longed to finally be alone and have time to properly digest everything she had been bombarded with in the last few minutes and make plans from this point in time onward, and on the other hand she feared exactly that.

She wasn't so sure she would be able to stay composed and not panic, like she almost had several times already, and keeping up this facade, or whatever it truly was, would be a lot easier if she wasn't alone.

 _And_ she would have to face her 'parents', whom she had never even met and knew nothing about, in quite a short time. Healer Winters had gone to Madam Pomfrey's office, where Hermione knew there was a Floo. If they hadn't come through already, and were just waiting for her to get ready, they would certainly do so in the next minute.

Luckily, the decision as to what to say, or even if to say anything at all, was taken from her. There were voices to be heard from the office now, two females, one of which was Healer Winters, and one male.

Her 'parents' had arrived.

Charlus and Dorea Potter, neé Black.

Hermione could only hope that she wouldn't panic and accidentally address them as Mr. and Mrs. Potter.

From the office, she could hear muted voices.

"... not entirely sure it was an accident", Healer Winters said.

"... know. Madam Pomfrey mentioned..."

That had to be Charlus Potter.

"You should... careful", Healer Winters replied.

"...can have... keep watch...", probably Dorea Potter said.

"I believe that would be best", Healer Winters said. "Are you ready to see her now?"

There wasn't an answer, but then the door opened, not unexpectedly, but still far too soon for Hermione's liking. She was _so not_ prepared for this.

The moment she met Dorea Potter's eyes, her mother's eyes, she corrected herself, however, all that fear melted away like snow in the sun.

A lot faster, though.

In these eyes, Hermione could see the unconditional love this woman held for her. How relieved she was at seeing her daughter, whole and comparatively healthy, and how glad and happy she was. There were tears glistening in her eyes, happy, relieved tears.

Nobody had _ever_ looked at her in that way. It made her feel safe, and loved. And at seeing the almost exact same expression on the face of the man who was supposedly her father gave her a reassurance she hadn't even dared hoping for. It made her feel like maybe this wasn't all that bad after all.

Maybe this was indeed her being granted a second chance, and maybe, just maybe, even though she knew next to nothing about the world she had landed in, one day she could be happy, like she never had been as Hermione Jean Granger.

* * *

The time until Hermione could leave for Potter Manor – _home_ , she reminded herself – passed quickly. After hugging both her 'mother' and 'father', they had helped her gather her things, and with the steady hand of Mrs. Potter at her side in case there were any problems, the had Flooed back to the manor.

They were received by a house elf named Tildy, who was surprisingly not wearing a pillowcase but something that would actually pass as _clothes_ , and it was her that transported both Hermione and her all her gifts to her room. Her 'parents' apparently had things to do other than fuss over her. Mr. Potter had departed to where Hermione assumed was his office, as he had been muttering something about work and the Ministry. And Mrs. Potter had wanted to check up on her 'brother', whom Hermione assumed was James.

By the way, she really, _really_ needed to start thinking about these people as her family, and leave out the quotation marks when she did so.

So, again.

Her Dad had gone back to work and her Mum had checked up on her brother, James. _Better._

As of right now, Hermione was lying on a four poster bed in a room at least as big as the Gryffindor Common Room. There were a lot of bookshelves, filled with what, interestingly enough, looked like muggle books, and to her right there was a tall window with an arch at the top that allowed her to see the beach. It had a small alcove with a chair and table in front of it, and on the table there was a book. Hermione assumed that it was there that she spent most of her time, reading. On the other side, on the wall left to her bed, there was also a mannequin, a table, a dresser and various pieces of cloth.

However, she didn't pay all that much attention to it. She was feeling tired and overwhelmed. All of this, whatever 'this' even really was, just was too much. And now, that she was in an unknown room in a house she had never even set sight on – or knew of its existence, for that matter – and being told this was her home now and had been for sixteen years, which, by the way, she couldn't remember anything about, the only thing she could do was break down.

She buried her face in her pillow, which smelled of almond and honey, and just cried. About her situation, and about the future, because she was scared, and feeling helpless, because she knew nothing about what was now her life, because she had no one she could talk to, or she felt like she could talk to – because _how?_ How was she supposed to talk to someone she didn't even know about all of this? And even more so, who in their right mind would believe her?

But also, she cried about all the things she couldn't and hadn't let herself cry about since she was seventeen. The war, the horrors she had to live through, and after that, this farce of happiness she had to present to the whole world, not being able to afford showing just the slightest bit of weakness, neither in public nor in private, not wanting to have her name slurred for the whole country to see, not wanting her friends to worry, and not being able to talk to the one person she _should_ have confidence in – her husband – because it was _him_ at the core of all that was wrong in her life.

Hermione's whole body was whacked by sobs, her pillow was drenched in tears and snot, and she had difficulty breathing. Deep down, she just wanted it to stop, wanted her life to stop, for it to just finally be over, to not feel anymore, and not have to suffer what she did. But somewhere her rational mind deterred that thought.

She had tried that already, hadn't she? She had hoped, desperately wanted this to be the end, finally peace, and instead it turned out to be a new beginning that she had neither wanted nor expected, but could not justify just throwing away like that.

She had been granted a second chance. Not many people were, she knew that. Harry had been given one, and now, her. She knew that she couldn't just give that up like it was nothing. She _wouldn't._

Slowly but surely, Hermione calmed down. She was still crying, tears flowing, but she could breathe again. But with her coherent thinking came the headache. She didn't know why, she suspected it had something to do with internal pressure or whatever, but she _always_ got a headache when she cried.

She sniffled and sat up slowly, her body feeling weak and broken. She used the sleeve of her hospital gown to wipe her nose and dry the tears that still were dripping from her eyes. She took her wand and shakily conjured a glass and filled it with some water.

While sipping it, she tried to distract herself as not to start crying again. She hadn't even truly stopped yet. Using that wand, that now was hers, had felt weird. Not a bad weird, but different from her other wand. Or at least, as far as she could still remember.

 _He_ hadn't forbidden her from doing magic, quite the contrary actually, but she would be hard pressed to remember the last time she had properly used her wand. The little magic she _had_ done, she had done wandlessly. It was something to push her, and something she could learn even without a book.

Or, at least, _she_ had learned it on her own.

So, not much to go on. Her magic had felt different though. Not weaker, not stronger. Not calmer, and not more aggressive. Just, _different_.

Hermione set the glass aside, empty, and took her wand again. Turning it between her fingers, she studied it intently. Except for the carvings she couldn't make out any notable differences. _Maybe_ it had a slightly different length, and _maybe_ it had a slightly different colour, but those were things she would only be able to tell in a direct side-by-side comparison, which she couldn't do.

Also, it could possibly have a different core than her original one – which had been dragon heartstring – but again, she had no possibility of finding that out, except snapping her wand.

However, Hermione preferred not doing that. The only thing that had fixed Harry's wand, after all, was the fact that he was the Master of the Elder Wand, not something she could boast for herself. And she didn't think Professor Dumbledore would be very welcoming to help her out concerning that matter.

She was already rambling again, at least in her thoughts, Hermione noticed, but at least it had finally stopped the tears. Not the headache though, unfortunately. On one hand, she desperately wanted some painkillers, or headache potion, on the other hand she didn't know who to ask for that, or if she even had theoretical access to such things.

Also, there was always the underlying fear of taking too much medication when she didn't truly need it, and then, if a time arrived when she was desperate for relief, her body would have built a at least partial immunity to it and it wouldn't help.

Yes, such were the fears of Hermione Granger.

 _Potter_ , she chastised herself.

Her breathing had also returned more or less to normal, and headache or not, her inquisitive nature came to the front once more. She stood up and walked over to the bookshelves. She didn't know how much time she spent just standing there, looking at the titles and randomly pulling out one or the other tome that had caught her interest and skimming through it. There was an unusual amount of muggle books for a pureblooded witch there. Or at least what Hermione assumed was an unusual amount from what she had seen over the years.

One shelf was dedicated entirely to magical books, ranging from complex theory to simple household charms and arts and crafts. Thanks to her investment in S.P.E.W., Hermione knew how to magically knit, but she was astounded at the sheer mass of books on various creation-related topics. One had been so complex she didn't even understand most of what the author was talking about!

Apparently, Hermione Potter had a passion for creative things, particularly clothes. That assumption was further supported by the many books on materials, both magical and muggle, how to treat and work with them. There were fashion magazines, muggle ones, and a whole folder of measurements and sketches for clothing, that was both beautiful and something Hermione would never _ever_ wear.

It just wasn't her style.

Not to mention that it looked far too revealing, or tight, or loose, or anything in between, in her opinion. She couldn't imagine ever feeling comfortable in these kinds of clothes.

Hell, she wasn't even interested in clothes or fashion.

Maybe she could pretend that her interests had sifted after almost dying? Not wanting to further dwell on the matter, even though it did explain the cloth and mannequin in her room, she moved on with her thoughts.

There was a lot, and with that Hermione meant _a lot_ of books on muggle science. Physics, chemistry, biology, IT, and similar topics filled out one entire shelf, from top to bottom. It must have held _at least_ two hundred different tomes.

And on another shelf, there were novels, hundreds of them, all from muggle origin. There were a a lot of classics, like Shakespeare, Charles Dickens and Jane Austen, not to forget The Lord of the Rings, but there were also many Hermione hadn't even heard of before.

She was fascinated.

Sure, there were a lot of books she had read that _weren't_ in this room, and a lot of books that Hermione Potter – her – owned, she had already read, as well, but she was really glad she didn't have school for the next few weeks. That would leave her the time to work through hopefully all the books that had caught her fancy.

Looking down, she realized she was still wearing that hospital gown, and although she hadn't been bothered by it just a moment ago, she now wanted to desperately get out of that thing. It was ugly, crumpled, full of snot and tear-stains, _and_ she was freezing. She only wore a pair of knickers underneath and her room wasn't exactly warm.

She went over to what seemed like it could be her closet – wide ornate wooden doors with mirrors on them – and was proven right when she opened one of them. It wasn't quite what she would call a walk-in closet, but it was certainly close.

There were her school robes – Gryffindor, she noticed – and various other garments that looked to be both wizarding wear and quite formal. The door to the left held more clothes, mostly muggle, though there were casual robes as well. Hermione picked pair of blue jeans, a dark blue t-shirt with long sleeves that flared out at the wrists, a pair of socks and a black bra, which she had found in one of the drawers to the side.

While she changed, she realized that she hadn't seen any of the clothes that had been sketched out in the folder. There were still two other doors that possibly were part of the closet she hadn't looked behind, but for now she just wanted to get out of that horrible gown.

Looking into the mirror, she smiled at herself.

"Certainly looking better than before!", she suddenly heard a voice.

She jumped, and frantically looked around, trying to see who had spoken.

"I would do something with that rat's nest you probably call hair, though!", the voice sounded again.

It was either deep for a woman's voice, or high for a man's. Hermione didn't know which it was, and that only added to her nervousness. Who could have possibly gotten into her room?

"I would put that wand down if I were you", she heard it again.

"Who is this?", Hermione asked, her voice sounding more firm than she had expected it to.

"Your mirror, of course", it replied.

Wait... her _mirror?!_ Since when could mirrors talk?

Suddenly, Hermione just felt stupid. She almost dropped her wand, but in the last moment used her left hand to hide her face behind, or rather hit her forehead with it. This was a _magical_ household, was it not? Of _course_ there would be items around that she had never even heard of, such as this mirror, because no one had ever seen the necessity to mention it in one of the many books she had read.

And why would they? For someone who had grown up with magic, it probably wouldn't even warrant a mention, it was completely normal for them!

"Oh", she oh-so-eloquently said, while cursing herself inwardly.

For a) not having realized earlier and b) for having grown up in a muggle household and therefore having overreacted so badly that it was more than embarrassing, although there were no witnesses.

Except the mirror, that is, but that thing didn't even count.

While Hermione searched her room further, this time for a hairbrush, she admitted to herself that no, she did _not_ regret growing up muggle. She just hated that it put her at such a disadvantage in the world she had been living in since she was eleven years old.

And then she further cursed herself at not being able to find the damn hairbrush. And _then,_ she remembered that she was a witch, and that she could perform _magic_ , and then she simply summoned the hairbrush.

It had been in the top drawer of the dresser next to her closet. And then, when it almost hit her on the head, she cursed herself again, for not having practiced her magic enough in the last few years, or at least not practiced _wanded_ magic enough to have control over such simple spells.

She had hopelessly overpowered the summoning charm, and while the hairbrush luckily _hadn't_ made an indent in the wall behind her, it very well could have. At least she still had her reflexes for dodging.

Turning back to the mirror, who didn't comment anything this time besides a "Hm", Hermione started brushing out the knots in her hair.

Or rather, she tried.

Not having brushed her hair in who knew how long, the usually hard task of at least partly taming it had become flat out impossible.

Hermione briefly considered looking for some spell or the other in one of the many books she now possessed, but quickly decided against that. It would take forever, and there was no guarantee she would even find anything useful. Also, as had proved the incident just a few moments ago, she didn't have full control of her magic anymore, and spontaneously learning and trying a completely new spell might not have the preferred results, to say it mildly.

She didn't have the tendency to set things on fire or make them explode like Seamus had, but that didn't mean her practicing new spells had always gone off without any problems or complications.

Giving up on her hair, Hermione decided to direct her attention to the next most pressing matters.

Her hygiene in general.

She still had that awful taste in her mouth, undoubtedly both from not having brushed her teeth in a rather long while and all the potions she would have had to take to stay alive and heal. So, she put the hairbrush back into the drawer and took her wand to clean herself up. It wasn't perfect and she would still like to shower very much, but it would do for the meantime.

At least having performed these spells several times everyday for almost a year made sure that she didn't overpower them. She suddenly realized she hadn't overpowered anything when conjuring the glass and the water either, but as of right now, she didn't want to think about that anymore.

It probably was because she had feeling exhausted because of her earlier breakdown. And yes, she was _still_ exhausted, but wearing these clothes and at least a little freshened up, Hermione felt a lot better than she had only ten minutes ago.

She went over to what now was _her_ bed, absently cleaned it up and sat down, leaning her back on the headboard. Twirling her wand between her fingers, something she never had been able to do before without unceremoniously dropping it, she realized how she already felt at home. She hadn't ever been in this room before, but unconsciously, she had already been thinking of it as hers.

 _Her_ closet. _Her_ hairbrush. And, _her_ books.

She didn't know a thing about the world she had found herself in, she didn't know anything about the people she was now living with, she didn't even know what day it was. Or year, for that matter. But, somehow, she felt good. Like she was in a familiar environment.

And, there!

She was twirling her wand. She hadn't even noticed, but now that she did, she promptly dropped it.

Suddenly, Hermione was afraid.

It hadn't even been half a day, and already she felt like she was losing touch with who she was. Something was wrong, and terribly so. Her breathing grew heavier again as her brain spiralled out of control. Thoughts were falling over each other, some similar, some fundamentally different, but all of them indiscernible to her conscious mind.

She was numbly staring ahead, eyes unfocused and her mind slowly losing contact with her body. There were black dots, clouding her vision and the last thing Hermione saw before losing consciousness was the door to her room slowly opening.

* * *

 **Reviews make me happy! :)**


	4. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

"Hermione? Dear, are you alright?", she heard a voice penetrate the fog in her mind. "Hermione?"

She groaned quietly and her eyes fluttered closed as she felt a soft hand cup her cheek and wipe away a tear she couldn't remember she had even cried. Hermione slowly opened her eyes again and came face to face with a woman sitting in front of her. She had black hair, fair skin and kind grey eyes that shone with concern and love.

"Um, yes, I'm fine, M- um", Hermione said quickly.

Maybe a little too quickly. She had almost called her 'Mrs. Potter'.

"I don't believe you", her _Mum_ said softly.

Hermione sighed. It was probably best to be honest here. Or, as honest as she could be, considering her circumstances.

"You're right, Mum. I'm not, and I don't think I will be for some time. Can we not talk about it, please?"

Her Mum nodded.

"As you wish, dear. But please know that I will always be there for you, if you do want somebody to talk to."

Hermione smiled.

"Thank you."

Mrs.- _Mum_ moved so she was sitting beside her daughter and put her right arm over her shoulders. She didn't want to lean into the embrace, mainly because it was making her feel weak, but she had convinced herself that it was because she hardly knew this woman. Still, she didn't have the energy left to resist, and she accepted the warmth and the comfort her mother provided.

Once again, the tears began to fall, making her headache even worse, but Hermione didn't care. She was hugging her Mum, and she was hugging her back, and all the emotions that she had thought she had gotten out of her system welled up and swallowed her. The only thing she could do was hold onto the body beside her, and sobbing her heard out.

She didn't even notice the kind and encouraging words her mother whispered in her ear, nor how she was stroking her back and hair. The only thing Hermione registered was the pounding in her head, and the overwhelming feelings that tore through her, ready to split her apart, and the only outlet that she had was crying.

She was tired, completely exhausted really, and slowly but surely her sobs became smaller, and she was hiccoughing and sniffling, calmed down at least a bit for the time being. She wanted to get up, and clean herself up, and bury everything from her past six feet under, never to see the light of day again, and move on with what now was her life.

But she couldn't.

The comforting arms of her Mum, who was still whispering in her ear, telling her it would be alright, and stroking her back like her Mum – Emma Granger – used to made her feel safe. It made her feel loved, and it made her stay there.

Her breathing became more even with every breath she took, as the soaked in the warmth, both physical and emotional, that she was provided with. It took her back to the times in elementary school, when she would cry so hard because of how the other kids treated her, and her Mum would come and comfort her just like Mrs. Potter – her _Mum_ , she reminded herself – did now.

Back to before she had alienated her parents more and more because of magic, and because of all the stuff she faced that she wouldn't tell them about, for fear of them forbidding her to go back to Hogwarts. It took her back to when she had, despite everything that was wrong in her life, felt truly loved by her parents.

Her Mum. And that was why, she told herself, she relaxed more and more into the arms of a woman that she didn't truly know, had never really talked to and knew nothing about, and finally fell into a light sleep

* * *

"Miss Hermione!", a squeaky voice registered in her mind. "You is needing to wake up."

Hermione slowly rolled over, her whole body was aching. The worst was her head. It was pounding so badly it sent black hazes over her vision. She was almost glad for it, as it more or less blocked out the light that came in through her window.

"Why?", she asked, her voice croaky because of how dry her throat was.

All that crying had made her dehydrated, she desperately needed to drink something. Water, preferably.

"You is needing to take your potions, Miss", the voice said again.

It took her a while, but with some concentration Hermione's surroundings became sharper, and she saw the head of a little house elf that just reached over her bed. Hermione groaned again.

"Can I have some water first?", she asked.

"Of course, Miss Hermione", the house elf said. "Tildy will be back momentarily", she added before popping away.

So, that was Tildy. Hermione wasn't sure, but she thought she might have been the same house elf that had taken her and her stuff to her room. The memories were fuzzy, though. Before she could further think about the matter, however, the elf was already back with a glass of water.

"Thanks", Hermione croaked, before emptying it in one go.

Immediately, it refilled, and gladly Hermione drank until she felt like her stomach was a balloon filled with water, only waiting to burst. Only then took she the time to admire the glass, that was decorated by an ornate flower pattern that reflected the light beautifully.

"Thank you, Tildy", she repeated, and laid down on the bed again.

The glass she had conjured only hours ago had already disintegrated, she noticed.

"Miss Hermione needs to take her potions now", Tildy said insistently.

"Fine", Hermione sighed.

She didn't think she would be poisoned. And she didn't have the energy to argue anything. Tildy gave her one vial after the other, five overall, and they all tasted disgusting. Normally, that wouldn't even be worth a footnote – everyone knew potions weren't exactly tasty – but combined with her blinding headache – quite literally, as the black pulses in her vision still hadn't subsided – it lead to a severe case of nausea.

That Hermione quickly sat up on the bed once she noticed didn't exactly help in that department, though.

" _Shit!_ ", she exclaimed, and that was also the only warning Tildy got before all the potions and the water made their way back up and landed all over Hermione, who held up her hands to do at least a bit of damage control, and the bed, as the hands weren't really effective.

"Oh no, Miss Hermione!", Tildy cried. "Are you all right?"

Hermione coughed.

"Do I look like I'm alright?", she asked, sounding tired.

"No, of course not!", Tildy cried. "Tildy is sorry! Tildy is a bad elf, asking stupid questions when her Mistress is sick!"

And Tildy started crying for real, thick tears falling out of her big eyes, and sobs shaking her whole body.

"No, Tildy!", Hermione said. "That's not how I meant it! You're a great house elf, really! You were worried, and you asked the first question anyone would ask! It's alright!"

Tildy stopped crying rather abruptly.

"You is meaning that? Tildy is not a bad elf?"

Hermione nodded.

"Yes, I mean that. You're a great elf, Tildy."

Hermione wished she could comfort the little elf, but her hands were still full of the reappeared mix of water and potions, as was her bed, and she didn't think Tildy would appreciate being coated in that. Speaking of...

"Tildy, can you perhaps clean this up?", Hermione asked gently.

She hoped that maybe giving her a task she could perform without problems would assure her that she really _was_ a good elf. Granted, Hermione didn't know her, but she liked her already, and she didn't think there truly were any bad elves.

Unfortunately, that was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Tildy began crying again, calmer than before, though.

"Tildy is sorry, but Tildy cannot", she said in a sad voice, disappointed in herself.

Tears were falling from her big, unblinking eyes once again.

"Tildy had not yet learned."

So Tildy was a young house elf? Suddenly, Hermione felt sorry for the little elf. She probably was still a child, and maybe this was one of the first real tasks she had been given. And she, Hermione, had to screw that up for her, just by being. Now that she paid closer attention, Hermione could swear Tildy was at least a foot smaller than Dobby and Kreacher had been. Subconsciously she had justified that with the elf being female, but even Winky had been taller.

Hermione wanted to help, and she wanted to make Tildy feel better. It wasn't fair if she was going to put herself down, maybe for her whole life, because of circumstances she couldn't control. It wasn't her fault.

"Can you bring me a towel, then?", Hermione asked.

As Tildy had already gotten a glass of water for her, she supposed a towel wouldn't pose a problem. Tildy only nodded and popped away, only to show up several seconds later with small blue towel, that had the same flower pattern as the glass on it.

"Thank you", Hermione said, smiling.

"Please stay", she then added.

She didn't want Tildy to go just yet. There was still confidence that needed building. Hermione dried her hands with the towel, and then took her wand and vanished the whole mess. Luckily, her magic didn't act out.

"Can you bring me to the bathroom?", she asked, and already regretted having done so, as Tildy started crying again.

"Tildy cannot", she said, almost resigned.

"Well, that's no problem", Hermione answered, as cheerfully as she could. "You can lead the way."

And,Tildy would _have_ to do so, as Hermione had no idea where the bathroom even was. The elf started to protest, but Hermione didn't let her get very far.

"Please", she requested softly. "For me."

And Tildy only nodded and walked out the door. Hermione followed her down a long corridor, on the walls were pictures of different landscapes and they entered the second to last door on the left. Hermione was relieved there weren't any talking portraits on the wall. She had no desire whatsoever to talk to some long dead person that may or may not be her ancestor right now.

"Tildy will let in a bath for Miss Hermione, if that is alright?", Tildy practically asked, her voice small and unsure.

"That would be great, thank you Tildy", Hermione said and smiled at the elf.

Tildy shyly smiled back, which caused Hermione's smile to widen, and started filling the bathtub with water. It wasn't as impressive as the one in the Prefect's Bathroom at Hogwarts size-wise and it didn't have as many different bubbles and scented waters, but visually, it was a lot more appealing.

It was decorated with a similar ornate flower pattern as the glass and towel, made out of white marble, and it looked like the flowers and swirls were growing from the base of the tub upwards. It was simply beautiful. The rest of the bathroom was designed similarly. There were two sinks designed in the same fashion, one tall mirror, two cupboards, and a dresser.

Also, there was a shower in the corner and the floor was laid out with a fluffy lavender coloured carpet. Were this a muggle house, Hermione would never stand for a carpet in the bathroom – just think about all the bacteria that would be caught in there! –, but as she was at Potter Manor, she almost wasn't surprised.

There was magic, right?

The scent of honey and almond penetrated her senses, and the flowing of water stopped.

"Tildy is finished", the little elf said. Hermione smiled at her. "Thank you, Tildy. And please, before you go, remember what I said. Its alright. It's not your fault you're still young and learning. Please don't put yourself down. Without you, I couldn't have managed today."

Tildy's eyes were glistening with tears again, but this time they were happy tears.

"Thank you, Miss Hermione. You are too kind. Tildy doesn't deserve your kindness", she said, and popped away.

Hermione sighed. She didn't want Tildy to think she was only being kind out of pity, or that she didn't deserve it, but there was nothing to be done now.

Slowly, she undressed. It had been a long time since she last enjoyed a good, long bath. And with her headache still very much there, she hoped that maybe the hot water would help her relax and make it better. She didn't dare asking for a potion, now more than ever. She didn't want to throw up again, thank you very much.

Her clothes were thankfully clean, her spell had worked like I should, after all, and once she was completely naked, her clothes lying on the carpet, she noticed how cold it was in the bathroom. She stepped forward, slowly, and put her hand in the water to test the temperature.

It was perfect. Warm, but not too hot and also not lukewarm. The almond and honey scent made her feel sleepy, even more tired than she was before, and fogged her brain.

For a moment she wondered if maybe there was some kind of drug in there and she should just run away as fast as she could, but she just didn't want to. The bath was just too inviting, with its warmth and the promise of relaxation. So, one foot after the other, she climbed into the tub and let herself immerse into the water.

It didn't quite burn her skin, and she greedily soaked up the warmth, her hair floating around her head. When the need to breathe became too great, Hermione emerged from the water and settled onto the bench that was chiselled into one part of the brim. Leaning back her head, she breathed in the air, still laced with that honey and almond aroma, and finally started to relax.

Her headache was still pounding, but sitting in the water, surrounded by warmth, closing her eyes and letting herself go into that fog of honey and almond, she almost managed to forget. For once, her thoughts were not falling over themselves, cutting each other off and swirling at the back of her head, only waiting to overwhelm her.

Despite everything, Hermione really, truly relaxed for the first time she could remember, and for the third time that day, she fell asleep.

* * *

When she opened her eyes, Hermione felt a lot better. The light falling into her room and bed through her window didn't cause her pain, and moving, while still quite exhausting, didn't hurt either. She was still thirsty, however.

On her night stand was the ornate glass from the day before, filled with water. Hermione took it, and emptied it several times, as it was refilling automatically. Contrary to the day before, she now was awake enough to be intrigued at that. It must be the same principle that automatically refilled the goblets in the Great Hall with pumpkin juice, but at the when she was at the castle she had never figured out the mystery of how it worked.

True, most times there were other – more important – things on her mind, but she was not going to let this opportunity go to waste. The glass was clear, and so she easily spotted, once she started to closer inspect it, a small rune engraved into its bottom. Or rather, a bubble of air, expertly shaped, probably magically, into the form of _laguz_ or _laukaz_ , the Elder Futhark symbol for 'water' or 'lake'.

It was clever.

However, there was no way this was the only thing magical about this glass. Hermione would bet her li-, well, maybe not her _life_ , but a lot, that this rune was merely the anchor for another set of very complex charms and enchantments. She had looked into Enchanting, sure, and she had always been good at Charms, like at all other subjects except Divination and Flying, and she knew that to unravel how the whole mechanism worked it would take her at least several days.

And she knew herself well enough to admit that this wouldn't be sufficient for her. She would want to be able to replicate it, just out of principle. So, a project best put off a little, at least until after breakfast.

A quick, wandless charm later, and Hermione knew it was already ten in the morning. There was no doubt she had needed the sleep, but for someone who was usually up at seven it felt like she had just wasted a lot of time. Sitting up from her bed, she noticed that someone must have changed the sheets, as they were a light blue now, contrary to the rose colour they had the day before.

Wait, _bed?_

Hermione couldn't remember returning to her bed. She tried reconstructing the events of the last day, but the last thing she knew was Tildy departing and her going into the tub, finally relaxing. Someone must have taken her back. And although Hermione was grateful to whomever it had been, as she didn't exactly fancy drowning in her sleep, she was also ashamed.

Once again it came back to her consciousness that she was a foreigner here. She didn't belong. And while all the others didn't know that – how could they? – Hermione did. And for her that meant that someone stranger had just seen her naked last night. She could only hope it had been M- _Mum_ or Tildy, and not someone else she had never even set eyes on. She couldn't imagine Mr- _Dad_ going into her bathroom, and neither did she think James would dare.

If he even lived in the Manor still, and hadn't already moved to Godric's Hollow with Lily. She _really_ had to find out the date.

As she stood up and went to her closet to change from the nightie she had been dressed in – short, long-sleeved and dark blue – into something more appropriate, she realized that she had no idea where she would even get something to eat. The manor was big, and she had never been there before.

"Looking good today", the mirror commented, and letting her eyes roam over her image in the mirror, Hermione couldn't help but agree.

Her hair wasn't a bird's nest anymore, instead it formed more defined curls than it ever had in her entire life. The bags under her eyes were still there, just not as noticeable as the night before, and her skin had started to get back what one could call a healthy glow. She thought that maybe her skin was lighter that it used to be, her hair a bit darker, and she didn't have those tiny freckles anymore, but overall, she looked good.

She was a little skinnier than before, but that was probably because she hadn't properly eaten in quite a long time. Who knew how long she had been lying unconscious in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts.

For her outfit, Hermione picked jeans once again, black ones this time, and a dark violet, long-sleeved t-shirt with a quite deep v-neck. Normally, Hermione thought, it might have been just a tad too deep for comfort, but she was feeling great, and she didn't want her mood to be ruined by such a small detail.

Oh, that reminded her. She really wanted to take the time and explore these other two doors of her closet, or rather, what was behind them. But, not now. Now, she had to get down to breakfast. Only, how? Would it be better to just blindly go for it, and when she got lost, call for Tildy? Wouldn't it be weird for her to get lost in her own house?

On the other hand, calling for Tildy now posed exactly the same problem, just a bit different. This was her home. Why would she not know her way? Absently twirling her wand between her fingers, Hermione pondered her options. For which one could she find the more plausible excuse? And, which would be better in the long run?

She could ask Tildy to pop her down today, saying she wasn't feeling up to walking, but then she still wouldn't know the way, would she? And then, she would be in the same dilemma tomorrow. So, that option was out. Also, Hermione just remembered that Tildy was still young, and the day before, could not pop her to the bathroom. So, that option was out anyways.

She could ask for an escort though. No, that wouldn't work either. So, what else? It took her a few minutes, but suddenly there was a single thought in her head that made her stop.

 _Why would an escort not work? Isn't that exactly what I need? Someone to show me the way, without it being obvious that I don't know where I'm going?_

She felt like hitting herself on the head, repeatedly. Why had she discarded that thought? Oh, well. The grumbling of her stomach reminded her to not overthink it and just get a move on already.

"Tildy?", Hermione asked.

"Yes, Miss Hermione?", she heard a squeaky voice. "How can Tildy serve you?"

Hermione looked down at the little elf, smiling. Doing that, she caught sight of something else, however. _Why, and more importantly_ _ **how**_ _am I twirling my wand? I_ _ **can't**_ _do that, at least not without dropping it._ And promptly, Hermione's wand fell on the floor, right in front of Tildy. The little house elf took it and extended it towards Hermione, handle first, before she could move to pick it up herself.

"Thank you, Tildy", she said. "Now, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to escort me to breakfast?" Tildy nodded.

"Of course, Miss Hermione, Tildy will gladly escort you. May Tildy ask why Miss Hermione wishes for her company?"

"Sure. I just wanted to make sure you didn't feel bad after yesterday. And I just wanted to talk to you."

"What an honour, Miss", Tildy exclaimed. "Tildy will lead the way!"

And with that the little house elf walked out the door, Hermione following just half a pace behind so it wasn't obvious she didn't know where she was going, and they talked.

* * *

By the time they arrived in the Dining Room, Hermione and Tildy had gone down several staircases, passed portraits of various ancestors of the Potter Family, and made more turns than Hermione could remember. So much for her plan.

At least, or so she supposed, she could now use the Four-Point-Spell to find her way back, as she had already been there once. But even if she had to have Tildy accompany her everywhere she went for a few days, it wouldn't be a bad thing at all. Talking to Tildy had proven one of best decisions she had made so far. The little elf was adorable, and once you got her chatting, she happily carried on the conversation.

Like that, Hermione found out that Tildy was three years old, daughter of Misty and Julius, two of the three Potter elves, the third being Frederick, and had been working in the household since the start of the summer holidays, while at the same time learning. Normally, she wouldn't have to yet, but as Frederick was quite old, she would have to be ready to take his place once he passed.

Tildy told her also that her mother was responsible for the cooking, her father for the gardens, and Frederick for the family themselves. Tildy's favourite colour was green, and she enjoyed telling and listening to stories.

Which kind of explained her talk-activity, or so Hermione thought. Besides that, Hermione also managed to filter some 'important' information. The quotation marks were imperative here, as she would never insult Tildy by thinking of her life as irrelevant.

Hermione's brother, James, was younger than her, what she had caught of Tildy referencing him as 'young Master James', her father was mainly managing the House of Potter, and was therefore very politically active. Her mother was officially staying at home to take care of James, but unofficially worked part-time at a shop in Knockturn Alley that sold enchanted items.

Hermione had to admit, she was intrigued.

She had only ever seen Knockturn Alley once, and she hadn't been very impressed by what she saw. For her mother, a woman from a prominent, not to mention _wealthy_ pureblood family to hold a job there, she _really_ would like to visit that place.

Hermione herself contributed only little to the conversation. She didn't want to say anything wrong, and Tildy was talking so much it more than made up for it. Now, however, they had arrived at the Dining Hall, only two wooden doors that had ornaments carved into them that looked like vines growing up from the ground, separated Hermione and her breakfast.

"We are there, Miss Hermione", Tildy said, and Hermione was glad she was still young enough to not realize that Hermione theoretically would have known that already, if only because she didn't want the little elf to put herself down again, like she did the day before.

"Thank you, Tildy", Hermione replied. "I enjoyed talking to you."

And she meant it.

"Tildy will be going, now. It would be improper for Tildy to enter the Dining Room with Miss Hermione."

"Will you be walking with me tomorrow morning as well?", Hermione asked. "If you don't have anything else to do that is more important, that is."

"Tildy would love to!", the little elf exclaimed and without warning hugged Hermione's legs, hard.

"If we don't see each other sooner, until tomorrow", Hermione said after Tildy had let go of her legs again and was now looking at her with a bright grin.

At hearing these words, her grin momentarily widened and her eyes began to sparkle, but before Hermione could be sure if there really _were_ happy tears in the little elf's eyes, Tildy had already disappeared.

And that left her right in front of these imposing doors, alone. But before any more nervousness could take hold, Hermione straightened her back, held her head high, and pushed the doors before her open.

-oOoOo-

The Dining Hall was bright in colours – white, cream and other pastels – and followed the flower theme that seemingly was predominant in the whole Manor. The sun was shining in through the tall arched windows, that – surprise! – were decorated with an ornate flower pattern at the sides that framed the glass.

Hermione had expected there to be a huge table, and many unnecessary chairs, but instead there was a round table that was filled with various foods – cereal, bread, jams, fruit, cake and more. And at that table sat Charlus Potter.

Her father, she reminded herself.

There were four chairs at the table, one of them occupied by her father, reading the _Daily Prophet,_ two of them entirely empty, and one of them, the one across from _Dad_ , had a set of plates and cutlery laid out before it. It seemed like _Mum_ and James had already eaten. Hermione went to sit down on her chair, as her father spoke.

"Good morning, Hermione. Are you feeling better?"

She nodded.

"Yes, I am."

"I'm glad to hear that", he answered, and then went back to reading the newspaper.

On the one hand, Hermione was a little disappointed, she would have liked to talk more with the man who was her father now, but on the other hand, she was also relieved. No talking meant no chance of screwing anything up.

So she just started taking a slice of bread and some strawberry jam and began to eat. While she was enjoying her breakfast, her thoughts started to wander. She wondered about what her life as Hermione Potter had been like, and if she maybe could gain her memory back. Then, she wondered if perhaps, she was getting that already, at least kind of.

She had noticed how familiar everything had seemed, and how, although she sometimes still had to remind herself to call Mr. and Mrs. Potter Mum and Dad, the evening before, when she had been crying in her mother's arms, she had instinctively felt safe, and also, thought of her as _Mum._ She wondered about her friends, about Hogwarts, and about James.

What he was like, how old he was.

And, first and foremost, she wondered if Hermione Potter, elder sister of James Potter, had existed in her 'old' timeline as well, and if yes, what had happened to her to not be able to take Harry in. Probably she had died, but Harry had never even known of her existence, or if he had, he had never told her about it.

Hermione ate slowly, she didn't want to be sick again, and once she had finished her slice of bread she realized she wasn't hungry anymore. So she set down her hands beside her plate, and before she had time to wonder what to do now, her whole table setting just vanished – courtesy of Misty, she supposed – and her father was addressing her again.

"Hermione, dear, there is something I have to ask you."

Well, if that didn't sound promising.

"Yes?"

"Do you remember what happened before you fell unconscious?"

 _Shit!_ Hermione could only hope that the reason her father – _Dad_ – asked was because there were no other witnesses. If she had to corroborate a story, there were bound to be problems. So, careful.

"Well, I was up quite early, as I haven't been sleeping well, and so I decided to go outside."

True, so far. Not her fault if her Dad decided to put it into another context.

"And-"

Should she mention the pull she had felt? She didn't have an explanation for it, and she didn't want her father to inquire further, lest her story fell apart. So, no, she would have to leave it out.

"And then, I was hovering over the Black Lake, I don't know how I got there, ant then..."

"Yes?", he gently prodded.

"Then, I dropped."

Her voice had become quiet and small, like a little girl's.

"I'm sorry I have to ask, but do you remember anything after that?"

"No", she said.

She didn't think that all her injuries, injuries she didn't even have now, flaring up with pain was something she could safely tell. And that the water was cold wasn't something new. So yes, she told her consciousness, it had been right to leave these things out.

"Why do you ask?", Hermione said.

Her Dad sighed.

"I have gotten a letter, almost two weeks ago. From Lord Arcturus Black."

"What does that have to do with me?", Hermione asked.

She had only heard little about this man. He was Sirius' grandfather, whom he had not exactly been fond of, like practically his whole family.

"As you know, he holds the position of Head of the House of Black. He claims his niece, Andromeda Black, has saved your life and now wants to formally call in a life debt."

Wasn't Andromeda Nymphadora Tonks' mother? Sister of Bellatrix and Narcissa, burned off the family tree for eloping with a muggle born?

"Why formally?", Hermione asked.

She had read up a little about life debts once she found out Snape had owed one to James, and as she had understood it, life debts just existed, they didn't have to be called in to be valid.

"I can only guess, my dear, but I think he has his own reasons for that."

Great answer! Not. Hermione sighed. She didn't know how far her knowledge about life debts was supposed to reach, and therefore she wasn't sure if she could ask more details about the workings of a life debt without blowing her cover. Which wasn't really a cover at all, but the point still stood.

"My my, do I see a confused look on my daughter's face there?", her Dad asked, and laughed. "How long it has been since I last saw that!"

Hermione scowled. Oh, how she _hated_ not understanding!

"I will explain it to you, then."

"Thank you", Hermione said.

"Life debts don't need to be called in, they just exist. The thing is, they only exist between the two parties involved, the saviour and the saved. If one of them dies, the debt can still be recovered by the other one to immediate family of the one that died, but once they are both dead, the debt dies with them."

So far, Hermione followed. It was merely a refresher of what she had read at Hogwarts about five years ago.

"That is the reason why oftentimes, such debts remain unfulfilled. They don't need to be called in, and therefore the parties are not even aware such a debt exists between them, at least most times."

Hermione nodded.

"I know that. But, what does this 'formally' do?"

"Ah, now I understand your confusion", Charlus laughed. "Formalizing a life debt is something that has been done less and less over the years. It involves both parties acknowledging the debt and transfer it from themselves to the House. When that process is complete, only the Head of House can call in the debt, and it is passed on in the family, until it is fulfilled. I believe Arcturus wants to make sure the debt does not go to waste, as it is in his favour."

Biting her lip, Hermione nodded.

"I think I understand. What else is in the letter?"

"He requests the Formalizing to take place as soon as possible, preferably the moment you regain consciousness."

"I hear a 'but' there", Hermione smiled.

"True. You have been in a coma because of magical exhaustion. I do believe that transferring this debt will be taxing for you. So, I want to go tomorrow at the earliest. You need some time to recover. I don't want you to spend the rest of your holidays lying in bed."

"I don't want that either, Dad. Thank you."

Hermione gladly went into his outstretched arms, taking comfort in her father's hug.

"No problem, dear", he whispered in her ear.

As Hermione turned around to leave, her eyes caught the date on the _Daily Prophet._

12 July 1967.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she started coughing to not choke on her saliva.

"Are you alright?", she heard the concerned voice of her Dad, and she could only nod.

Seeing that date in black and white, printed on the newspaper drove it home to her in a way that nothing else had managed to do so far. This was real! Not a dream, and not a fragment of her imagination running wild.

This was her reality now, and she had no idea how she could possibly adapt.

* * *

 **I hope this chapter answers at least some of the questions I know have been flying around. Kudos to those who guessed Andromeda right, if in the reviews or only in your heads.**

 **If you want to review, it would be very much appreciated and make me a happy person :)**


	5. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

After she had found her way back to her room, which wasn't a small feat in and of itself, even with magic, Hermione spent the rest of her morning accumulating all the information she could remember about the time she found herself in, and the people she would have to interact with.

The only reason she managed to do so in the little time that was left of her morning was because unfortunately, she didn't remember much. Once she had come to Hogwarts, she didn't have time for muggle history anymore, so she only had some general knowledge, like the Berlin Wall had been built, the Americans would be landing on the moon for the first time in about two years, and the First Wizarding War against Voldemort would be officially starting in three years or so.

With people, she didn't get very far either. She could place the parents of some of her classmates roughly, but never exactly. And once her brain had caught the possibility of her and Bellatrix being at Hogwarts together, she shut that train of thought down immediately.

She couldn't afford falling apart because of a theoretical circumstance.

Who knew, maybe Andromeda, who had saved her apparently, was her age, and Bellatrix had already graduated. Or she just was in a different year. There were plenty of options, all more probable than the one Hermione didn't want to be true, and it wouldn't do to worry.

Looking sadly at her sparse notes, Hermione was split between wanting to skim as many books as possible, in hopes of finding out some more about her situation, or doing something which she had wanted to do since she had seen the sketches and cloth the day before.

Look through all the clothes she, or Hermione Potter, had sewn herself.

It was quite ironic, really, that she had always been so annoyed by Lavender and Parvati doing nothing else but talk about fashion and gossip about other people's live life, but now she was feeling almost giddy at seeing what her former self – or whatever Hermione Potter was in relation to Hermione Granger – had created.

Shaking her head, Hermione abandoned these thoughts, stood up and walked over to the two doors of her closet that she had not yet opened. She felt like she was a little girl again, anticipating her birthday and all the presents that came with it. She wanted to savour that feeling, keep it with her as long as possible, as it was something she didn't think she would ever feel again, but after some time, she just couldn't stand it anymore.

She stretched out her hand, slowly, and it was even shaking faintly. As soon as she touched the door, it melted away, taking the other one with it, and leaving Hermione almost choking on the breath she had sharply inhaled in surprise. If somebody had asked her to describe what she would dress a prostitute in, that would probably not have been too far off. She should have gathered from the sketches, but these things were _revealing._

Either they were tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination, or they were loose enough that they would move around so much with every single movement that there was no doubt everyone who wanted to could catch sight of _everything._ To make matters worse, at least parts of the material was sheer in almost every single piece.

Hermione didn't know how long she stood there, just trying to get her brain out of shock and process what she saw. She couldn't even formulate a coherent thought, let alone find answers to all these unasked questions.

"Is Miss Hermione alright?"

She was shaken out of her state by a high, squeaky voice she had already learned to associate with Tildy.

"Oh, um, yes, Tildy. Just... caught up in my thoughts."

Tildy nodded.

"Tildy is glad Miss Hermione is alright. Tildy has to go now, however. Tildy has classes. Miss Hermione must be calling on Misty if she needs something."

"I will, thanks. Have fun!", Hermione said, but she wasn't entirely sure Tildy had heard her before she had disappeared again.

Not popped, like the other elves did, she was fairly sure about that because she hadn't heard any noise. Her guess was she had just become invisible, or unnoticeable, as that was what house elves were generally supposed to be. She didn't like the implications, that staying out of sight was so ingrained in their very beings that it seemingly didn't take a lot of effort for them to literally become invisible, but there was nothing she could do about that now. _Later_ , Hermione promised herself. _Once the war is over at the very latest._

Then she noticed that there was a tray standing on the dresser beside her closet, probably the reason Tildy had been there. On it, there were five different coloured vials of potions, some fruit that could probably count as a light lunch, and a glass of water. Glancing to her nightstand, Hermione noticed that the other glass of water wasn't there anymore. She would just have to keep the one she had now, then.

With a flick of her wand, Hermione floated the tray onto the table and sat down to eat. She took her time doing so, not wanting a repeat performance of the evening before, and fortunately she also didn't get one. The potions still tasted very badly, but as she had water and fruits to neutralize that, it worked quite well.

The moment she was finished, Hermione cursed herself for not having the presence of mind to analyse the potions, as she did want to know what she was actually taking, and why _five_ different potions. But well, that would have to wait until the next day.

She called on Misty to take away the tray, as she didn't want that standing around unnecessarily, and then went, against her better judgement, back to where she had been before.

The closet.

The doors were still open, and Hermione had no idea how to get them closed again. She looked at all the clothes again, and suddenly, she had the strange impulse to try something on. No matter how revealing and inappropriate she found these garments, Hermione couldn't help but acknowledge that they were also very pretty, and some could even count as sexy.

And if there was one thing she had always craved to be and feel like, and had never quite managed, not even at the Yule Ball in her Fourth Year, it was to feel sexy. Really and truly sexy. Desirable.

So, she stepped closer and started to look through all that there was. She knew she should probably feel appalled by someone – _her_ – actually going out wearing these things, but she was mainly intrigued. This was new and exciting territory for her.

And when she held a pastel coloured, sheer blouse with a flower pattern in her hand, that had so short sleeves that they almost weren't there, and that was to be knotted at her ribs, leaving her whole belly exposed, with rose coloured buttons that went down in the middle, she had fallen in was unlike anything she had ever worn, both the pattern, the colours and the overall cut, but she loved it. She paired it with a short, black leather skirt that was sort of layered on the left side, and even found some simple black ballerinas to go with it.

Then, she changed.

And looking in the mirror, whose comment was a simple "looking hot there", she didn't see Hermione Granger, bookworm and insufferable know-it-all staring back at her, but a girl whom she supposed was Hermione Potter. She had an a little bit insecure facial expression, but that had vanished the moment she had caught sight of her mirror image, and was replaced with careful confidence.

The mirror had been right, she did look hot. Sexy, desirable. All the things she had ever wanted. Among other things like good grades and friends, but well.

Hermione knew she could be standing before this mirror, picking out every single flaw in her appearance, but she refused to have anybody destroy this moment for her, even if that someone was she herself. Her smile was slowly becoming radiant, her whole face was glowing, and her skin looked incredibly smooth, reflecting the sunlight. Hermione turned, wanting to see herself from all angles.

She didn't even want to know what it must have looked like to an outsider, how narcissistic she must have seemed, admiring herself in the mirror, thinking about how beautiful she was. But, that was exactly how she not only looked, but also finally felt.

Beautiful.

She had stopped counting the amount of times her parents, and later her friends, had told her she was beautiful. She had never really believed them.

Until that very moment.

In that one moment, twirling in front of the mirror in clothes that she would never have let herself be caught dead in just a few hours ago, she felt better about herself than she had ever before.

…

And then, as it always did, something happened to destroy that feeling.

One moment, Hermione had been happier than ever before, ready to take on the world, strong and confident in herself. And in the next, light caught on her left forearm. And differently from the rest of her body, the skin wasn't smooth and unblemished.

Hermione had accumulated her fair share of scars over the course of her life, most of them in what had been referred to as the Second Wizarding War. She didn't like any of them, as they reminded her of all the suffering and pain she just wanted to forget, leave behind in the past. But she had learned to live with them, learn to accept them.

And now, they were gone. Her skin was like it used to be, before the war.

Except, and that was the catch of the whole thing, one scar. Or eight, depending on how one wanted to see it. There, on the inside of her left forearm, it was spelled out for the whole world to see.

 _MUDBLOOD._

Hermione would have gladly traded gaining every single scar she ever had back for this one to be gone. It had been the cause, either directly or indirectly, for her nightmares for over three years, the reason she couldn't remember the last proper sleep she had gotten without the aid of potions. It was a reminder of who she was to the people in power, of her worth in the eyes of these people, or rather, lack thereof.

And it served the purpose Bellatrix had intended. Hermione could never forget her place in Wizarding Society, the lowest of the lowest, as muggles and squibs didn't count because they had no magic.

In short, that scar stood for everything she had lost, for everything she had never had, and for everything she couldn't ever reach, simply because of the circumstances of her birth.

And, it stood for pain. Physical, emotional, external and internal alike.

Hermione had thought this was a new life, a second chance offered by the universe she only had to take.

What a fool she had been! This wasn't a new beginning, it was the continuation of what had become her miserable life. She just wanted it to end! To not feel the despair anymore, the helplessness and the worthlessness.

But, hadn't she tried? Hadn't she set out the morning before, intent on taking her life? On making it finally stop? And look where it had gotten her! To a different time, with different people, a new family and the same problems as before!

Besides, she had never believed that suicide was the right way of doing things.

You never knew if tomorrow was the day everything would change. She had once read somewhere that once you jumped, the moment there was no turning back anymore, you regretted your decision. You realized all that you had that was worth living for.

And Hermione had always prided herself on being able to see these things without having to jump off a bridge, or otherwise trying to take her life. She had been proud that, despite all the bullying she went through ever since elementary school, all the taunts and insults she had to take, and then later, despite living in a war, despite having to take other peoples' lives and seeing her friends die around her, watching the world fall apart with nothing she could do to stop it, she still had the ability to see the good things in life.

To hold on, be strong and get through it.

Until that one day, when _he_ had taken the one thing she had left still.

Her free will.

But wasn't it free will as well, to decide to live? To decide not to take the one thing you will never be able to gain back, your life?

Rational thought started coming back to Hermione as her brain muddled through all the emotions clouding it. This _was_ a second chance, she refused to believe anything else. And she would make the best out of it, scar or no scar.

She sighed.

 _If things only were that easy._

She stood up – when had she sat down? – and grabbed her wand. Glamouring or in any other way hiding the writing had been impossible in her 'old life', and even though she didn't expect it to suddenly work, she still had to try, didn't she?

"Occulto", she intoned, but as predicted, nothing happened.

She thought the scar might have faded a little bit, but that was probably merely her imagination.

Hermione went to her bed and curled up on top of the sheets. She was feeling tired, emotionally spent. It seemed like it was becoming a permanent condition for her to be in.

As she lay there, dangling between sleep and wakefulness, her mind wandered back to all the beautiful, if revealing, clothes. Thoughts of anything else, be it the war, _him_ , Bellatrix, or something else entirely different, she did her best to just blend out and ignore. Instead, she wished she had the confidence to wear these clothes in public.

She had gotten a taste of what it had felt like, the confidence seeing herself in the mirror wearing that blouse and skirt gave to her, but she was sure she would crumble under the gazes of the people, under their whispers and stares and pointed fingers, and under that thoughts of what they might be saying about her. Hermione knew she shouldn't care, she could wear whatever she wanted and when somebody didn't like it, they should just look away, but only thinking about the reactions of others made her stomach tighten with fear.

How had she managed to turn her happy thoughts about beauty and confidence into fear again?

Hermione took a deep breath, and as she let it out, she imagined all the fear she felt going with it. That only worked marginally, but at least it did. Kind of. But then, she thought of something else, that made her relieved and sad at the same time.

She would never be able to wear these things, not in front of anyone but herself, and the mirror, if he even counted. Her left arm would always have to be covered, like she had grown used to doing over the last three years. With a start she realized that, unconsciously, she had been looking forward to not having to wear long-sleeved garments all the time.

Contrary to before, however, she didn't only want to cover the scar from the public eye now, but she needed to. As Hermione Granger, it had been a question of not wanting to relive the events at Malfoy Manor for the satisfaction of the press, not wanting to endure all that faked pity of all the people who were glad it wasn't them, and also, _he_ had requested it.

He didn't want to see the scar, be reminded of the horrors she had to face. Or so he had said. After what he had done to Hermione wasn't all that sure anymore. That, however, only brought her back to the problem at hand.

Now, she _had to_ cover it up. How was she to explain to somebody that not only had that scar just appeared on her arm, practically overnight, without any incident that would justify its sudden existence, but also that the word 'mudblood' was spelled out in capital letters on the arm of the daughter of one of the most respected pureblood Houses in whole Britain?

Hermione wasn't stupid. It would raise questions, such as of her parentage or identity as a whole, and that was something she couldn't afford. There was surely going to be media coverage as well, it was the House of Potter, after all, and there were enough people on Voldemort's side that would love to see it fall from grace.

And with media attention, there would come other attention as well. From the Ministry, for example. Getting Unspeakables involved would only make the already bad situation worse, who knew what they would be finding out.

And once they knew she was from the future, well, let's just say the war against Voldemort would be her smallest problem. So, yes, she didn't have any other option but go around with her left forearm always covered. And her right one as well, then. Otherwise, it would just look stupid.

* * *

Hermione didn't know how long she had been lying there, staring blankly ahead, thoughts falling over themselves, all important, but none of them clear enough to remember. It was like she was in a trance, and she only snapped out of it once she caught herself thinking of all the cards and sweets she had gotten during her time in the Hospital Wing, and what had happened to them.

She knew that Tildy had put them _somewhere_ , but, at least in her opinion, it was quite hidden, as she hadn't spotted these things once in the last twenty-four hours. And she _had_ explored the room. So, if she was Tildy, or any other house elf really, where would she have put those?

Hermione wanted chocolate, as it supposedly helped with producing endorphins, and that seemed like a good start.

Her eyes travelled through her room, taking in all the dressers and shelves. Obviously, on the shelves there were books, and only that. She had one dresser right to her closet, in which the hairbrush had been, so she could probably exclude that. The area around the dresser on the other side of the room was very distinctly marked as her sewing space, with all the pieces of cloth that were lying around there and the mannequin.

In her closet, there was nothing but clothes, so where could these things be? She didn't want to call Tildy and disrupt her lesson and she didn't think Misty would know where her daughter had put Hermione's stuff. Worst case scenario, she would have to wait a day, but she didn't want that. So, she would be continuing her search.

Only, the cards also weren't on her reading table at the window, so she was quickly running out of options. She sat up, and once the world stopped spinning, walked around the room. Maybe she had missed something? It seemed like she hadn't, however.

Until she sat back down on the bed again, feeling a little defeated, that is. Hermione noticed, and asked herself how she could have been so unobservant, which was indeed very unlike her, that her nightstand had two drawers, as well. And as she pulled them open, in the top one there were her cards, and in the bottom one, as it was a little bit bigger, there were her sweets. Immediately, she opened one of the many Chocolate Frogs and bit off its head.

She had never really liked those, because of the animation charm they came with, as it made her feel like she was killing some living being. Unfortunately, it was also the only plain chocolate available in the Wizarding World, and her need for chocolate had just been greater than her consciousness at killing an innocent Chocolate Frog.

When she had finished with the body, Hermione got up again to fetch paper and pencil – yes, muggle paper and pencil, she had already wondered about that – to hopefully further her little 'project' of finding out about her life. In Hermione's opinion, the cards could be sorted into roughly two categories.

Category one, people who obviously didn't care at all that she was unconscious and had written the card only to not look bad, and category two, people, mostly males, who were suggesting that the sweets they had sent would hopefully aid her recovery so they could meet again soon. In other words, the political suck-ups and the horny teenagers, whose fantasies Hermione Potter had apparently catered to.

 _Ugh!_ That was something Hermione would certainly _not_ be engaging in in the future. But despite her disgust at both kinds of people, she stayed true to her mission, and wrote down every name, everything they had said and all the thoughts that came to her mind about this person. So far, after sixteen cards, there had not been one positive.

Picking up the last card, Hermione took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. The reason that was even necessary was that this last card wasn't a card at all. It was a letter. A _whole_ letter! Or rather, an envelope. But still, there could be several pages in there, talking about the fantasies of one disgusting male specimen.

At least the cards had been short and non-descriptive!

Also, Hermione was extremely glad that so far, she hadn't recognized any of the names. Last names, sure, but she had not once have an instance where she could put a distinct face to the author. Slowly, Hermione opened the envelope, which was addressed to her. She took out the parchment, luckily only a single sheet, and began reading.

 _To: Hermione Dorea Potter_

 _I hope that once you wake up, you will have found the will to live again._

That was it.

That one sentence, and it knocked the breath out of her.

How could someone know she had wanted to take her life? That had been thirty-four years in the future. Or, did she, as Hermione Potter, also want to commit suicide? Had she gone through with it? _Why?_

And who had written that letter? There was no signature, no indication of who could have sent it. A friend of hers, maybe? But why wouldn't they sign, then? An enemy? But why write something encouraging then? Why hope she would live, why not tell her they would have wished she had died for real?

It was a riddle, one that intrigued Hermione to no end, but also one that she had no means of solving. It wasn't like she was going to go around, showing that letter to anyone she crossed paths with, and expecting to find the person like that.

She sighed. It made her feel better to know that apparently there was someone out there who cared more about her than just a means to an end, be it political or sexual, even though it could be understood in the way that they wanted her to find the will to live she she could be exactly that. But, Hermione didn't think so.

It felt genuine, and it made her feel good, so she refused to believe anything that would destroy this feeling for her. If it truly was intended differently, she would probably never find out anyways, so why ruin what she had gained from this one sentence? Why crush the hope it had given her, that there was somebody who liked her for her, an hoped for her best, other than her parents, just for some theory she had no means to prove?

It seemed like life as Hermione Potter had been hard, hard enough for her to try to commit suicide, if the letter was to be believed, that is. She _had_ to find out more about her life.

She cast the Tempus-Charm, wandlessly, and it told her that it was already seven in the evening.

 _How quickly the time has passed_ , Hermione thought. _Should I go down for dinner? Or is someone going to fetch me? Or is Tildy going to bring me the food like she did lunch?_

She had no idea.

Hermione resolved to wait a few minutes. The time it took her to put away her 'presents' she had gotten while unconscious, more precisely. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she frowned. She wanted to leave these things on. They made her feel good, something she had not felt in a very long time, but she knew she needed to change. If only because of her left forearm.

As she put on her clothes she had also worn in the morning, Hermione scowled a little. She had realized that the reason for all these more or less appropriately worded cards she had gotten was probably because of how she dressed at Hogwarts. She couldn't exactly judge these boys for wanting her, could she, if that was what she had been trying to achieve? So, maybe it was her fault after all.

But honestly, she didn't care. She didn't care what these boys thought, or if they fantasized about her. The realization came to her quite suddenly, but it was true. She didn't care about all of these things, it flattered her actually, in a weird kind of way. Although being in bed with anyone was very unappealing for Hermione at the moment, she admitted to herself. That, however, didn't change the fact that she liked feeling sexy and desirable.

 _It all comes down to free will in the end_ , Hermione thought. _If I'm willing to give what others want from me. And, I'm just not._

* * *

It took Hermione only a short time, maybe a few minutes, to shake herself out of these morose thoughts this time, and she decided that it probably was time for dinner. Actually, she had no idea, but she was hungry and when there wasn't anyone in sight in the Dining Hall, she could still call for Tildy.

Walking down all these corridors and around all these corners was weird, to say the least. Hermione feared messing up and getting lost with every turn, but miraculously she not only found her way on the first try, but she also had the eerie feeling of having walked along these corridors many times in her past already. And while the former could possibly have been attributed to her nearly perfect memory – and she could _not_ consciously remember most of it – the latter couldn't just simply be explained away.

But at the moment, Hermione had absolutely no desire to do so. Yes, she _hated_ not understanding things, and no, that hadn't changed in the least, but it was just too much. She needed a break, and she was determined to take it.

Luna Lovegood came to her mind, her kindness and slight strangeness, of course, the main characteristic, the one of which Hermione was at least a little envious, and the reason she had thought of the girl in the first place was her nature to just take things as they were and accept them, just like that, without asking all these questions that didn't help at all, but just made everything more complicated.

Hermione knew she didn't have all the answers, not the means to obtain them at the time. So, what she decided she would try to do is be a little more like Luna. She would never manage to stop asking questions completely, but she would at least try to not get hung up on finding all the answers, and let herself be defined by that.

Hermione pushed open the doors to the Dining Hall, just like she did in the morning, and was greeted by a little something slamming into her, almost making her lose her balance, hugging her waist.

"Mine!", the thing, that turned out to be a little boy, shouted. "You're back!"

"Yes, I'm back", Hermione answered.

This had to be James.

"How are you, little man?", she asked.

"I'm good. I pranked Mum today", he told her proudly.

"Oh yeah? What did you do?"

Hermione gently loosened James' arms from her waist and walked towards the table, as her brother looked up at her with a wide grin, which showed off the gap between his front teeth.

"Well, I had to practice my writing, and when I was done I took another sheet of parchment and painted it black with ink, and when Mum came back to check on me, I told her I had spilled the ink over my writing, but before she could get angry, I also told her that I had invented a new spell to make all the ink but the one I had written with my quill disappear, and then I got this _really_ concentrated look on my face – I practiced it in the mirror for days! – and then I really quickly exchanged the two parchments, and Mum laughed and was very proud of me!"

"That's great!", Hermione said, while inwardly chuckling.

She was pretty sure their Mum had seen right through that, but she certainly wouldn't be the one to tell her little brother that and burst his bubble. Obviously, he was getting started early.

Also, she had been very impressed at his manner of speech, after all he was only seven years old and quite excited, but she just put it down to his education. He was, after all, a pureblood. And even Malfoy had known how to properly articulate himself, if he wanted to.

"So, when do we eat?", James asked. "I've been waiting for ages!"

Hermione noticed that the table was set already, and she sat down at the same place she had for breakfast, before answering.

"I don't know, little man. I only just got here."

"It's going to be less than a minute", their Mum's voice came from behind them.

She had entered from the other side of the room, through a set of doors Hermione hadn't noticed before. The urge in her to go and explore the Manor like a little child just grew a little bigger. Maybe she could trick James into thinking it had been his idea to take her along on an exploration through the house? Hopefully.

She needed an explanation for it if she was noticed – which she indubitably would be – and she didn't exactly fancy going at night to avoid attention. With her luck, that would probably backfire, anyway.

Their Dad entered the Dining Hall behind Dorea, and both sat down at their respective places. The moment they were both sitting comfortably, and James had also calmed down somewhat, the food appeared. During dinner itself, they only talked little, everyone wanted to eat, and none of them would have dared talking with their mouths full. After the table was cleared, however, conversation started to flow.

"So, what have you two been up to today?", Charlus asked, and James launched into the tale of his prank again.

Dorea did her very best not to laugh, but when she caught Hermione's eye, who was in much the same situation, they both had to stifle their bubbling laughter behind their hands. James then started to talk about Quidditch, and about the World Cup of the last year. Charlus gently but firmly got him to stop talking, however, and then asked Hermione the same question as before.

"What have you been doing then, today?"

Right, what _had_ she been doing today? She had tried to accumulate information about what was now her life, a life she didn't have any memories of, without much success. Not something she could give as an answer. She had spent more time than she ever had as Hermione Granger looking at clothes. That could be safe, if she reformulated it a bit. She had taken her potions, and _not_ been sick. Also something she could share.

She had discovered that her single most hated scar was the only thing that got transferred, and she still hadn't worked through all the implications that brought with it. _Not_ something she would ever tell anyone. Oh, and she had looked through her get-well-soon cards, and discovered that she was seen as an easy lie more than anything else at Hogwarts. She could turn that one into a sort of joke, maybe.

 _And_ there was the letter that contained one single sentence, no signature, and not a handwriting she could place. It had served her in finding out her middle name, at least. She was Hermione Dorea Potter. And her Dad was waiting for an answer.

"Um...", she said to buy herself a little more time. "I looked through all my clothes?"

It sounded more like a question than a statement.

"The ones you sewed yourself?", Dorea asked.

Hermione nodded.

"You made clothes yourself?", James exclaimed. "Why don't I know this? Can you sew me something? I want these robes that are red, and that have this-"

"That's enough, James", Charlus said strictly.

"Okay", her little brother pouted.

He looked so downcast and disappointed, and so adorable, that Hermione's heart melted.

"Why don't you tell me about that another time?", she asked gently. "I'm sure I can arrange something."

James looked up at her, his eyes blazing with joy.

" _Really?_ ", he said. "You're the best sister in the world!"

And then he got up from his seat, fully ignoring the disapproving glances both of their parents sent him, climbed on Hermione's lap and squeezed her tightly. Hermione hugged him back fiercely, and whispered into is ear:

"Just for you, little man. Only you."

They stayed in their position for maybe a few seconds longer, before James seemed to realize his blunder and went back to his seat, Mumbling an apology. It was quite endearing seeing him blush, Hermione thought.

"Well, back to the topic at hand", Dorea said. "What else have you been doing dear?"

"I've been reading all the cards I got when I was in the Hospital Wing."

"And?", Charlus asked.

Hermione shuddered.

"Insincere bastards, the lot of them. Only in it for personal gain", she replied.

"So bad?", Mum asked.

Hermione nodded gravely.

"Unfortunately, yes. It was sixteen of them, and believe me, they were either written to appease political expectations, or served the single purpose of at least indirectly implying the writer's desire to bed me."

"What's that mean?", James asked.

"What _does_ that mean, James", Mum gently corrected him. "And, I think you will find out in due time."

"That's only a nice way of saying you think I'm too young to know", James complained, and Hermione couldn't help but thinking that he was really smart and perceptive for a seven-year-old.

"It is", Charlus admitted. "But you're just going to have to accept that for now."

"Okay."

 _That pout has no business looking so adorable_ , Hermione thought.

"You know, dear, it's partly your fault as well, when you're going around in these things you call clothing all the time."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Somehow she got the feeling this was not the first time they had had a conversation like that.

"I don't care what they're thinking or fantasizing about, and you know that. I just don't like that apparently, that's all I'm worth in their eyes. But hey, I got free candy out of it."

"Good for you", Dorea smiled, while at the same time James asked: "Can I have some?"

Hermione laughed.

"Of course, but not right now, I'm afraid."

"When's dessert, then?", James asked.

Seemingly, it would be a good substitute for now.

"There's dessert?", Hermione asked surprised.

She didn't think she could eat anything else, after the meal she had just had. "Only a light Mousse au Chocolat", Charlus assured her.

"So you don't have to fear about a repeat performance of yesterday evening", Dorea added.

Hermione smiled. Apparently, Tildy had told her mother about that. And surprisingly, Hermione didn't mind it at all. She actually appreciated having somebody – or several people – who really cared about her.

"How do you know that?", James asked,referring to the choice of dessert.. "I never know what's for meals!"

"Well, I asked and Misty told me."

"Oh."

The Mousse au Chocolat was great. Hermione only ate a minuscule scoop, but even though she was already feeling slightly nauseous, she didn't regret it in the slightest. Also, that made her think of something.

"I took all my potions today, by the way", she said.

 _That rhymed_ , she commented in her thoughts.

"And I didn't throw them back up", she added.

"Hermione!", Dorea said. "No such language at the table, please."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Okay."

"I'm glad", her Mum said.

"As am I", her Dad put in.

"Thanks", Hermione smiled. "Do you know when the final check-up is? Or if I even have one?"

"I don't. But I'm sure that if Madam Pomfrey wants to make sure of your well-being, she will message us."

"So you don't know how long I will have to take these potions?", Hermione asked.

"Yes, we do. She had given us enough for another five days. And I assume that if she doesn't say anything else before that, one week it is."

"Alright."

Hermione nodded at her Mum's words. That was apparently the most she would be getting at the moment. The family continued talking for some more minutes before it was time for James to get ready for bed. He protested, of course, as he wanted to spend more time with his sister whom he had just gotten back, and also made that known quite vocally, but Dorea remained steadfast.

When Hermione and her Dad were left alone in the Dining Room, all the dishes and cutlery had vanished some time ago, Hermione was tempted to just excuse herself as well, and go to bed, but her father spoke before she could.

"Do you think you are up to a visit to Black Manor tomorrow?"

"I'm not supposed to do much magic yet", she said.

"I sense a 'but' here", Charlus said.

"Yes. I don't want to put it off longer than I have to."

"A smart decision", her Dad nodded. "Especially since you still have to revise for your O.W.L.s."

Wait, _what? O.W.L.s?_ She was entering Sixth Year, right? With sixteen? So, would she not have taken the exams already?

"From your expression I gather that this has not been on your mind so far", her Dad said.

Hermione only nodded.

"Hermione", he started.

Hermione didn't like the sound of where this was going.

"You might have holidays now, but you will have to revise for your exams nonetheless. Being a Daughter of the House of Potter will not exempt you from having to take your O.W.L.s, even if you have been unconscious during the actual exams. Except, that is, you wish to repeat Fifth Year."

"No!"

Hermione was horrified at the mere prospect of having to repeat a year. Never, _ever_ would that happen to her, no matter the circumstances.

"As I had assumed", Charlus smiled at her. "There are no definite plans as of yet, but you will be taking the exams before you return to Hogwarts, so I would strongly advise you to use your free time to study for them."

"Of course", Hermione nodded.

She could already feel the panic, spurned by the fear of failing, rising up. It was a familiar feeling that she had gotten more times than she could remember, but for the time being, she pushed it back down. Now was neither the time nor place to fall apart because of exams she had already successfully taken once.

"Good", her Dad said.

"So, about the Blacks?", he asked. "It has been some time since I got that letter and I would not want to keep Arcturus waiting longer than is necessary. So, do you think you're up to it?"

Hermione hesitated. She wanted to say yes, just get it over with, put another obstacle behind her, but she had no idea what that Formalizing Process entailed, what she would have to do and moreover, how taxing on her body and magic it would be.

"You can say no, you know", her Dad put in, his voice growing softer. "I don't want to be the one to push you into something you feel physically not ready for."

And then there was the very real possibility of her coming across Bellatrix. She was Andromeda's sister, after all. Hermione didn't think she was emotionally prepared for that. Looking at her Dad, however, she made a decision.

"I'm doing it."

She couldn't bear letting him down, she just couldn't.

"But I-", she hesitated again.

"Yes?", he inquired.

"I don't know what to do. You know, to Formalize the debt."

"Don't worry about that, dear", Charlus said reassuringly. "Arcturus will be leading, and telling you what to do. It's the way the Process was designed. And, as it usually isn't done anymore, you won't be finding any books on the matter, either."

 _Did he read my thoughts?_ , Hermione wondered. _Or am I just that predictable?_

"Alright", she nodded. Nothing to be done. She excused herself from the table, then, and went back up to her room, lost in thoughts.

 _Didn't Dad say only this morning that he wanted to go tomorrow at the earliest? I mean, he did give me an out, I could've said I'm not feeling up to it. But that just didn't feel right. And I didn't want to disappoint him. Am I over-analyzing this? Did he really go back on what he said this morning, or do I just feel like he did, because he asked again?_

* * *

 **Before I get reviews shouting at me for the "maybe it's her fault" thing, let me clarify. It is never, NEVER the woman's or girl's fault if the guy can't keep it in his pants. Ever. Hermione does, at this point in the story, not know much about Hermione Potter's background, and is therefore assuming that her past self that she doesn't remember has deliberately dressed in a way to attract the kind of attention she is, which is actually true. She is not saying that any potential rape that could have happened would have been her fault, she is saying that _probably_ Hermione Potter didn't care at all, and it is _her_ (Hermione Potter's) fault that _she_ (Hermione Granger) now has to deal with the results of that. Sort of. It's not like Hermione Potter intended what happened with the time travel. Suffice it to say that her backstory will be explored in later chapters, as Hermione finds out more about her past in this world, and rape etc has never been an issue.**

 **Her parents say that it's "her fault" as well. They are both old-fashioned purebloods, and they are giving Hermione a lot of leeway concerning her clothes. In their opinions, their daughter has chosen the kind of attire she wants to walk around in, and despite it going against probably every custom or etiquette there is concerning clothes, they let her, because they love her and want her to be happy. That also means that in their opinions, Hermione has to be prepared to deal with the 'fallout' of her actions.**

 **In general, you can imagine her wardrobe to be sort of what we would wear today, in terms of 'skimpiness'. This is the sixties, and a conservative society to boot, and Hermione has probably been raised with similar values. As was I, as a matter of fact. But, opinions change and sometimes, you might find yourself loving some article of clothing that you never thought you would wear only a few months ago (or weeks, or years, or whatever. I think you get my point.)**

If you've actually read this whole Author's Note, I'm proud of you. If you like, please review. It makes me endlessly happy :)


	6. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

The next morning, Hermione was so nervous, she practically ate nothing for breakfast. The little she did get down was only because she knew she was going to need some semblance of strength for what lay ahead.

She didn't know what bothered her more; that she didn't know what was going to happen and the fear of screwing it up somehow, or the prospect of meeting someone she had known in her 'old' timeline, however superficially that might have been. Hermione refused to let Bellatrix cross her thoughts, because if she did, she was sure she would hide in her room, close the door and have another breakdown.

"Ready to go?", her Dad asked her, and Hermione was pulled out of her thoughts.

She was standing in her Dad's study – Tildy had accompanied her again – in very formal and expensive robes with the Potter Family Crest embroidered on the left side of her chest. She didn't know how she felt about wearing them. On one hand, she felt proud and content, she finally had an actual place in the world she was living in, and she was part of a prestigious pureblood family, and on the other hand, she felt awkward, like she didn't really belong.

And she didn't, did she? She was just a lowly mudblood, after all, no matter the circumstances she found herself in, and she had the scar to prove it.

"Hermione?"

"Oh, um... Yes, I'm sorry", she quickly replied.

"It's alright to be nervous, dear."

She smiled faintly, and then followed her Dad through the Floo to Black Manor. They were received by a female house elf, who showed them the way to Lord Arcturus Black's study. Hermione noticed that Black Manor wasn't as dark as Grimmauld Place, though nowhere near the brightness of Potter Manor, but maybe that was because there were actually people living there.

"Welcome, Lord Potter, Miss Potter", a rather severe-looking man said.

He had light skin, black hair and grey eyes, the typical Black features. He seemed to be in his forties or fifties, but Hermione had learned not to trust the outer appearance much in that department, as witches and wizards seemed to be aging a lot slower than muggles.

"Lord Black", Charlus replied in much the same voice, neutral and devoid of any emotion. "And Miss Black as well", he said.

It sounded a little surprised, but Hermione knew it was merely an act. Andromeda _had_ to be present for this whole thing to work.

"Lord Potter", Andromeda answered, and to Hermione's shock, curtsied. Not even five minutes in and she had made the first – might she add, very obvious – mistake.

"Lord Black", she said, and curtsied just as Andromeda had. She just hoped nobody had noticed she had 'forgotten'.

"Let's get on with it, then", Lord Black said, and Hermione relaxed just a little bit. "Miss Potter, you and Miss Black will have to face each other."

There was enough space in the room to fit in several library shelves – it really was more of a spacious office than a study in Hermione's opinion – so that didn't pose a problem. And only when Hermione stood opposite Andromeda, she noticed that the girl was almost a foot shorter than her. She held her head high, and her shoulders were squared back proudly, so maybe that was why Hermione hadn't realized before.

She was beautiful. Her hair a dark brown, not quite black but very close, falling down to her waist in soft waves, her jaw rather square, milky skin and brown eyes that didn't betray her emotions one bit. It was like a wall of coldness Hermione was met with, and she couldn't help but think of Narcissa Malfoy, who had always worn quite a similar expression. Apparently it was something that all the Blacks had in common. Except Sirius, that was.

Andromeda looked up to her, and their eyes met. Hermione thought there was a flicker of emotion in them after all, if just for a tiny moment, but it passed so quickly she couldn't be sure, let alone determine what the emotion actually had been. She didn't even want to think about how she must look like in comparison.

She had always been one to wear her heart on her sleeve – her acting sucked, and she knew it. It was a wonder in and of itself she hadn't had another mental breakdown as of yet, or ran out of the room. She supposed she was even more scared of the consequences that would have than just getting it over with.

"Take out your wands", Lord Black commanded.

Hermione did so at the same time as Andromeda, their eyes never losing contact. Strangely, Hermione was comforted by that, though she did neither know how exactly or why.

"Now, speak after me: _Confirmo debitum vitae inter nos esse. Hoc debitum traduco in Domu mea et confirmo nullam affectationem in hoc debitum habeo. Hic confirmo voluntate et magia mea._ "

After they did, their wands both began to send sparks, and whenever they met, they formed a connection, until there was one big beam of light between them. The air was so filled with energy and magic, it was making it hard to breathe. Hermione registered only in the background that her Dad and Lord Black were talking, probably completing the Formalization with their own Latin phrases and magic.

A far more pressing matter at the moment was the drain on her magic that the Process was undoubtedly the cause for, and it took her all her willpower to hold on. She had been exhausted before, sure, but feeling the energy just flow out of her, through her wand, and not quite mixing in the air, it was unlike anything she had experienced. Even after the Battle of Hogwarts, she had not been as tired as she was starting to feel now.

Her eyes threatened to close, and she didn't think her legs would hold her up for much longer. Her arm had gone numb, her hand wasn't even actively gripping her wand anymore. There was a slight wind around them, like the magic itself was moving the air around them, but that didn't help with providing Hermione's brain and bloodstream with oxygen. Little beads of sweat were falling down her forehead, and she only absently noted that her whole body was shaking.

The light was getting brighter and brighter, but she didn't close her eyes. She couldn't. Black spots started to appear, her chest rising and falling, her lungs burning. And the magic was still coming out of her. She didn't think she had any more in her. She had to hold on, had to fight her exhaustion, just a little bit longer. It felt like eternity to her, even though it was only seconds before the light abruptly went out.

Her eyes didn't even have the time to adjust before Hermione felt her body finally giving in and crumbling on the floor like she was a puppet whose strings had been cut.

* * *

When Hermione regained consciousness, she didn't open her eyes. She could see forms of light behind her closed eyelids, the telltale sign of having looked at something way too bright. She had experienced the same when, as a little child, she hadn't listened to her mother and looked directly up into the sun.

The rest of her body felt weird. She was exhausted, and lying down like she was, she didn't think she had the necessary power to move any of her limbs more than a few inches.

Her mind, however, was fully awake, and aware of her surroundings. She was lying on something soft, possibly a bed, and there was someone beside her. Hermione could hear them breathing, feel their gaze upon her form.

She wasn't afraid, however. She felt safe, and despite her exhaustion, she felt strong.

Her lungs still burned, even though that pain ceased with every breath of air she took. It was clean air, free of magic, or as free as it could be in a magical household. Hermione suspected that maybe someone had opened a window, and when she had convinced herself – after more than a minute of internal debate – to open her eyes, she was proven right.

"You're awake", a girl said.

Her voice was emotionless, detached somehow, but Hermione still wasn't afraid. She knew she could defend herself, and she had the energy to do so. That the reason she was in this position in the first place was her having fainted of magical exhaustion didn't cross her mind once.

"I am", she said, or rather tried to say.

What actually got out was a rather unattractive croak.

"I'll get you some water", the girl said.

And she left the room.

Hermione only then realized that the girl was Andromeda Black. For once, her mind didn't have any commentary to give, and her thoughts stayed rather blank. She wondered if that was what it felt like to think like Luna Lovegood, just accept things as they were and not question them any further.

It seemed like a dull way of living.

As Andromeda returned, a glass filled with water in her hand, a question came to Hermione's mind. Why had she not simply called a house elf?

"Thanks", she whispered and took the glass.

She had sat up in the bed in the time Andromeda had been away, and now was carefully sipping that water, slowly as to not spill anything, and enjoying how it soothed her dry throat.

"No problem", Andromeda replied, and sat down at the foot of the bed. "Is it okay if I sit here?", she asked.

"Of course", Hermione answered. "It's your room, isn't it?"

"Technically, I guess you could say so", Andromeda confirmed.

Her voice was still cold, however. The atmosphere was quite awkward between them. They were, for all intents and purposes, strangers. Hermione had never met Andromeda in person before, only heard about her from various people, and Tonks seemed to have gotten her outgoing nature from her father.

Also, she was just the slightest bit embarrassed that she had fainted, whereas Andromeda hadn't. As someone who was used to being the best, it felt like a failure, somehow.

"So...um... What happened?", Hermione asked, mainly to get some conversation flowing.

"Well, after we acknowledged the debt, which I'm sure you remember, Lord Black took my left hand and Lord Potter yours, and they accepted the debt in the name of their respective Houses. Then, they touched the light from our wands with their free hands, and then it was over and you fainted."

Hermione could feel herself blushing.

"Yeah... that wasn't planned."

"I gathered as much", Andromeda said, and Hermione could swear she had seen the ghost of a smile on her lips.

Maybe, just maybe, she would be able to bring the girl to display some of her emotions, after all.

"Thank you", Hermione said sincerely.

Andromeda looked at her, confused.

"For saving me", she then clarified, internally cheering at having had a little success. Confusion counted as an emotion, right?

Andromeda didn't look older than fourteen or fifteen years old. She shouldn't have to hide herself behind a wall of coldness.

"Oh, I...", she trailed off.

"You what?"

Was that a blush?

"I would do it again in a heartbeat."

"Thank you", Hermione repeated.

"Are you not going to say anything else about that?", Andromeda asked.

"Like what?", Hermione replied, confused.

"The Blacks are a traditionally Dark family. The Potters are a traditionally Light family. Why wouldn't you wonder about any ulterior motives I could have had?"

"Have you had any ulterior motives, then?"

"No, of course not!"

"What's the problem then?"

"How can you just assume that?", Andromeda asked. "And why did you believe me, just like that?"

"Because-"

Hermione hesitated.

 _Because I know who you will become. I know you married a muggleborn, I know you were disowned for that, I know you supported the Order, if only indirectly because of your daughter. I know that you're not like your family, I know that you have a goo_ _d_ _heart._

But that was something she could never say. So, what could she say?

"Because- you are family. My mother is your grandfather's sister. And she's a good person. Not all Blacks are as Dark as their name suggests."

"But why _me?_ You know who my sister is. I know you hate her as much as she hates you. So, why would you believe me?"

Her sister? Bellatrix? Narcissa wouldn't make any sense whatsoever, she was the youngest of the three. Andromeda had to have meant Bellatrix. And Hermione couldn't deny that she did hate her, and that Bellatrix unmistakably had hated her as well, but in this life as well? Why?

"Why not?", Hermione replied. "You are not your sister. I'm quite sure that if it was Bellatrix who had the choice to save me or nor, she would have gladly seen me perish."

"She probably would have, you know", Andromeda said softly. "Especially since I didn't even know it was you in the middle of the lake. Bella would just have let you float there and not thought twice about it."

"I know", Hermione answered quietly.

She had seen the woman torture and murder more people that she would have liked, and Bellatrix had delighted in it. It wasn't any stretch at all to see her uncaring about the death of someone she didn't even know the identity of, never mind the possibility they could be saved. It wouldn't cross her mind even once.

"So, why do you believe me, then? For all you know I could have arranged all of that to have your House indebted to mine."

"That wouldn't have worked", Hermione said. "And I'm sure you know that as well."

"I do.", Andromeda asked. "It isn't a life debt if the reason you need saving is because of me in the first place. I can't torture you to the brink of death, for example, and then, by helping you heal and recover, call in a life debt. It has to be an act of selflessness. But you knew that already", Andromeda added. "Sorry."

"What for?", Hermione asked surprised.

"I didn't mean to sound like I'm lecturing you. I know you're smart, and you're two years above me. Obviously you know more than I do."

"Well, thanks for the compliment, I guess, but I'm sure you know a lot of things I don't." _And not only things relevant to a timeline I don't remember_ , she mentally added.

"If you say so..."

Andromeda didn't sound convinced. However, Hermione noticed that the wall Andromeda surrounded herself and her emotions with had seemed to become a little thinner. She smiled to herself. She was definitely on the right path then.

"I don't actually know what about my actions was selfless.", Andromeda said suddenly.

"Maybe selflessness actually isn't the main factor in all of this. I don't think there has been done extensive research on how Life Debts form. More on how they can be exploited. It has to be genuine, I guess."

"You _guess?_ " Andromeda had a small smile playing on her lips. "I didn't think I would ever experience Hermione Potter being unsure of something."

"Huh?", Hermione asked.

 _Very eloquent Hermione, well done!_ , she complimented herself.

"The whole school knows that you know everything there is to know about everything."

"That I'm an insufferable know-it-all, you mean?"

" _No!_ That's not what I meant!"

"Sorry", Hermione said sheepishly. "It's just..."

"I know", Andromeda said.

Suddenly, Hermione wished to never ever know who had coined the term this time around. She had a sneaking suspicion it had been Bellatrix. And that, together with the hatred that seemed to exist between them in this time as well, all pointed into the direction that Hermione had been doing her hardest to ignore these past two days.

That she and Bellatrix would have to interact at Hogwarts, and Hermione didn't think she could do that. She just wasn't up to it. Not now and probably not ever.

The silence between them was broken when Hermione could hear steps approaching.

"I have a feeling we won't be alone much longer", she said. "Any last words?"

"Nope", Andromeda said.

Before Hermione could say anything else, the door opened.

"Ah, I see my daughter has graced us with her consciousness again", Charlus Potter said, as he entered the room.

The words were rather harsh, but Hermione thought she could detect a smile in them.

"Yes, indeed", a second voice commented, cold, male and smooth.

Lord Black.

For the first time since she had awoken, Hermione actively took in her surroundings. She was still in the study, lying on a bed that must have been either transfigured or conjured. However else would it have gotten there?

"Um... Would you?", Hermione asked a little shyly, extending her right hand that was still holding the glass of water towards Andromeda.

"Of course", Andromeda answered, and took it.

Hermione sent her a smile, but the other girl didn't respond in any way, her face presenting a cold mask. At some point, probably right as Lord Black had entered, it must have snapped back in place.

"Are you ready to go, then?", Hermione's Dad asked.

A small, childish part of Hermione wanted to just stay and enjoy the warmth and comfort the blankets provided, but it wasn't much of a choice, was it? And the environment was a lot less friendly now than it had been only a minute ago.

"Of course", she nodded.

She got up from the bed, and while she was still trying to clear her vision from the black spots that seemed insistent to appear in it, the bed vanished. _I could have done that myself!_ , Hermione thought, but said nothing. She assumed it had been Lord Black who had performed the magic, and she didn't want to get on his bad side. Nor come across as a little child.

She walked towards her Dad, who had his left arm stretched out and, when she was near enough, put it around her shoulders to escort her out of the door. Hermione didn't know if she liked it or not. It made her feel smothered, but it also made her feel safe, sort of.

She shot one last glance back into the study over her left shoulder, and she involuntarily caught Andromeda's eye. Her gaze was cold and without emotion, but when Hermione sent her a small smile, it grew warmer. The moment she blinked the warmth was gone.

The same house elf that had escorted them on their way in also showed them the way back to the Floo, and while Hermione was still contemplating on how to approach Andromeda, or if she should even approach her at all, she absently took a pinch of Floo Powder, and Flooed back to Potter Manor, immediately followed by her father.

* * *

"Hermione!"

The severity in her Dad's voice made her stop in her tracks. "Have I not told you to tell me if you did not feel up to the Formalization?"

Slowly, Hermione turned around to face her father's wrath. Or disappointment. She didn't know what was worse.

"Yes, father, you did", she answered.

"Then why have you not done so?"

"I'm sor-"

"Now is not the time to be sorry, Hermione", he thundered.

Something inside her broke at these words. Her Dad took a deep breath, and spoke on calmly. Hermione thought that was even worse than him shouting. Almost. Maybe. She didn't know, her emotions were all over the place.

"Do you know what that looked like to Lord Black, you falling unconscious? His daughter is two years younger than you, and she was perfectly fine. It makes us look weak. The House of Potter has never been more highly regarded. It _is_ going to get out, and it's going to reflect negatively on all of us. People are going to blame me, talk about me behind my back, question my competence not only as a Head of House, but also as a father. Children are precious. And if that doesn't happen, you still have given the Blacks prime blackmail material. It's bad enough that the House of Potter is indebted to the House of Black!"

"Father, I am sorry!", Hermione exclaimed.

"I am disappointed in you, Hermione", Charlus said. "I would have thought that with almost seventeen years, almost being an adult, you would realize this. And this isn't just about public image either. What about your well-being? You may not have the responsibility to carry on the line, but do you think I don't care about that? I said I didn't want you to lie in bed your whole holidays, and I meant that. I worry about you, Hermione. But you are almost of age now, you have to take care of yourself. And you have to consider the image you portray to both our allies and enemies. I have taught you enough politics that you should know the ramifications of your actions."

Charlus' voice had become softer towards the end, and Hermione could clearly decipher his feelings towards her. He was worried, yes, but most of all, he was disappointed. In her. And that hurt, a lot.

"I know, father", Hermione said, trying her hardest not to cry. No matter how broken she felt inside, she would never, _ever_ , show it.

"Go now, and think about what I have told you", he said.

"Yes, father", Hermione said. Back in her room, she had managed to work through her feelings at least a little bit, and she noticed once again how differently she had acted. Hermione Granger never would have been so submissive, for lack of a better word, nor would she have been so hurt by the words of a man she hadn't known for more that three days.

Also, deep down she knew that what she was feeling right now, the hurt that she had, once again, disappointed one or both of her parents, was nothing new. Like she had done several times already over the course of the past few days, Hermione lay down on top of her bed, curled herself into the covers, and cried.

* * *

And, she had a headache again. When Hermione was woken up by Tildy, bringing her the potions she had to take, her head was pounding. She carefully sipped on a glass of water, before falling back into her pillows again. She would not make the same mistake twice, and upset her stomach with too much liquid at once.

There was a calmness around her, that made it possible for her to think clearly. She was changing, and fast. She wasn't Hermione Granger anymore, that much she knew. But was she Hermione Potter? Could she even be Hermione Potter, without having any memories of her life? Things were familiar, yes, too familiar for her to have experienced them for the first time, but she still couldn't remember.

Her life as Hermione Granger was a different matter entirely. She knew everything. Only, that knowledge wasn't useful in the least. At least, not right at that moment. She knew the future, yes, but did she really? After she had gotten access to the Time Turner in her Third Year, she had done some research on the workings of time, but that had been very limited. The only thing she had taken from that was that time travel was dangerous, and the future was never fixed. So, just with her being there the future she remembered might not even come to pass anymore.

Hermione was conflicted. She didn't know whether to do her best to make sure the future as she knew it came to pass, like she had to do with the Time Turner, or if it was lost either way and she had now the opportunity to make life better for everyone involved.

The emotional side of her was heavily leaning towards the latter, but there was a part of her rational mind that insisted she didn't do anything that she couldn't remember had actually happened. The problem with that was her existence, in and of itself. She didn't know if Hermione Dorea Potter had even existed in the first place, and so her mere presence could screw up any plan targeted at preserving the future she knew.

And that brought her back to the thought that had started all of this. She wasn't herself anymore, she wasn't Hermione Granger anymore. She was interested in clothes, for one. She felt like she didn't mind other people's opinions of her as much, not that she had any actual confirmation for that yet. She did, however, care about what her Dad thought, and his disappointment in her had hurt.

Also, had she not mainly agreed to the Formalization after he had asked her a second time at dinner, and she couldn't bear saying no for fear of letting him down? As Hermione Granger, she could see herself acting similarly, true, but she knew that in that particular situation, she would have put her health first.

So, what was happening to her? The only theory she could come up with was that, maybe, she had a mixed personality now. Maybe who she was as Hermione Granger, and who she was as Hermione Potter had blended and formed something new, made up of the two old parts.

 _Like_ _colour_ , Hermione thought. If Hermione Granger had been blue, and Hermione Potter had been yellow, she now was green. Or something like that.

* * *

The rest of the day, Hermione spent looking through various books on politics, wanting to understand what had caused her father to react in the way he had. She had never really bothered with that subject before, she had had other more pressing problems at the time, and she had to admit it wasn't her favourite subject, but now it seemed like she didn't have a choice.

She had known that before the war, the Potters had been a very respected pureblood family, and now that she was part of that family, she had to be careful, lest she inadvertently made a grave mistake. She had to learn how to navigate the waters she was now swimming in, and although she didn't get very far in the few hours she had, and there were only a few books she possessed on that topic, it was a start.

Her father had come up to her room at one point, but Hermione told him to go away. Luckily, he listened to her. She didn't want to speak with him at the moment, afraid she would start crying again. She had resolved for herself that the time to break down all the time was over, once and for all. She had managed without any overly emotional outbursts for years of being miserable, and no matter how bad it seemed, Hermione knew this was a second chance for her.

When after hours, she still hadn't found much on the etiquette that was now expected of her to know in the books, she gave up with a quiet sigh. She sat down on her bed, leaned her back on the headboard and closed her eyes. Listening to the sound of her breathing, Hermione tried her best to empty her mind and just think of nothing. It didn't quite work, but it did leave her calm and collected once her eyes fluttered open again.

She didn't know what it was, but something inside her had changed. Something had clicked, and finally, Hermione felt like she belonged. The room she was in was familiar, she knew her way around the Manor – sort of – and she had a little brother, who was as adorable as he was mischievous. Her parents, Charlus and Dorea Potter, loved her, despite what her Dad had said to her.

It had come absolutely unexpected, and much more sudden than she had thought possible. This spontaneous 'meditation' had helped her gain the one thing she had longed for these past three days – the feeling that what was now her life really _was_ her life.

* * *

"Hermione, dear, can I talk to you for a minute?", Charlus asked.

"Okay", Hermione answered, and followed him to the room adjacent to the Dining Hall. It was what Hermione would call the living room. There was fireplace, a table, a couch and various chairs, all seemingly very old. They looked like they were comfortable, however.

Hermione's Dad sat down on a black leather armchair, and Hermione sat down on a similar one across from him.

"I wanted to apologize, my dear",he said. "I know I hurt you with what I said this morning, but I want you to know that that was never my intention. I almost lost you, I thought you would never wake up again when you were lying unconscious in the Hospital Wing. It was seven weeks, Hermione. _Seven weeks._ And I was so afraid you had made it all worse, with your stubbornness. I _told_ you to tell me if you couldn't do it."

"But I thought I could", Hermione interrupted him. "I have never done something like that, how was I to know that it would be so taxing? I know I should take it slow, but I didn't feel any drain at all when I performed some simple spells the last few days."

She had apparently said something wrong, as her Dad's expression turned displeased.

"You have been doing magic?"

"I-", Hermione started.

She suddenly realized she was only sixteen, now. There was still the trace on her. _Shit!_

"I'm sorry", she said. "I forgot."

"You can call yourself lucky that the wards at our Manor don't allow any tracking, not even from the Ministry. Otherwise, you would be in a lot more trouble than you are now."

"Yes, father", Hermione replied.

"You are almost seventeen, Hermione. I have said it before and I will say it again. You need to pay attention to your actions and take responsibility for them. Luck is only going to get you so far."

"I know", Hermione said.

And she _did_ know. What she had started to realize over the years was that it was luck more that anything else that had won them the war, and saved her life. She couldn't rely on it doing any more for her that it already had.

Her father's words only reinforced what she had decided she would be going to do anyways. Learn everything she could, and everything she needed to know as a member of the Upper Class of the Wizarding World, and hopefully avert some of the things that were yet to come. To make the world she had once known as Hermione Granger an unrecognizable place, a vision of a possible future that never came to pass.

"I am sorry for the way I shouted at you, Hermione, but as I said, the content of my words is nonetheless true."

"I understand. I'm sorry, Dad. I won't disappoint you anymore."

Her Dad smiled at that.

"Oh, how often I have heard these words from your mouth already. But don't worry", he continued, not allowing Hermione to cut in. "I know you mean them every time. And that is enough for me. Now, come here."

He stretched out his arm towards Hermione, and she gladly stood up and hugged her Dad. She melted into his arms, sucking up the love and care he gave her. It became glaringly obvious to her how much she had missed that, someone to just be there.

Her Mum was there for her, as well, she knew that, felt it deep in her heart. And as she got ready for bed, for the first time in may years she was relaxed. She wasn't plagued by worries or grim thoughts, and her heart didn't feel heavy in the slightest. She felt good, loved and cared for, and she fell asleep the very moment her head touched her pillow.

* * *

 **I hated the first draft of this chapter. I edited it several times and even completely rewrote parts of it, and even though I'm still not completely happy with it, this is probably the best it's ever going to get.**

 **The Latin was translated by me, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone. It means:** I acknowledge that there is a life debt between us. This life debt I transfer to my House and I acknowledge that I don't have any claim on this debt. I confirm this with my will and magic.

 **If you would like to review, it would be greatly appreciated. :)**


	7. Interlude II

**Interlude**

* * *

Dear Miss Black,

I send you this letter to extend my gratitude for taking care of me in a time that I was unable to do so myself. I am unsure if this opens up another debt between you and me, or if it is merely something that is to naturally transpire in a situation like the one referred to. I apologize in advance for my phrasing. I have been unsure of the right way to formulate this letter, and chose to be on the safe side, as to not seem overly familiar. I am, of course, hoping for a response, however, please do not feel compelled.

Sincerely, H.

* * *

Dear Miss Potter,

I can assure you, there is no debt between us. I welcome your gratitude, however it would not have been necessary. To take care of somebody when they are unable to is something everyone should do when it is in their powers. You will have noticed already that I have answered you in an equally as formal manner as you have written. That is caused by the unwritten law of showing one's opposite the same amount of respect they have bestowed onto yourself.

I am unsure as to why you would – by your own admission – not know how to address me, but I am assuming that even though you are – like me – the Daughter of a prominent pureblood House, you have not had the same rigorous lessons on etiquette that I have had to endure. If that is a good or a bad thing, I do not know.

I hope it isn't too presumptuous to extend the offer to teach you some of the finer points, as my mother has taught me. Should that be something to catch your interest, I would implore you to communicate that to me via your response.

Sincerely, A.

P.S.: If you were to break form under the guise being ignorant and address me familiarly, you would be most welcome. I find writing in this manner very exhau-, excuse me, stimulating to the brain.

* * *

Dear Andromeda,

I have to admit, I'm glad I know where I stand. How long has it taken you to formulate your letter? I bet not more than a few minutes. I took several tries and more than an hour, before you can ask. I accept your offer. It had become obvious to me – my Dad pointed it out to me, not in an exactly friendly way – that my understanding of politics and etiquette and the like is severely lacking.

And that last sentence sounded a little formal again.

Well... It feels weird, writing like this to someone I have only just once met, and not talked to for more than maybe two or three minutes. I'm sure I have seen you at Hogwarts before, but that doesn't count.

I have no idea what else to write...

I have to take my O.W.L.s at the end of the summer holidays. Dad got the Ministry to give me permission to perform magic so I can practice the practical portion, but that is more official nonsense than anything else. The wards around Potter Manor prevent any ministerial tracking anyways.

Do the wards at Black Manor do the same? Please, though, don't try it on my behalf. I don't want you to get expelled because the Ministry can track you after all.

Love (? – I didn't know what else to write...) Hermione

* * *

Dear Hermione,

 **Thank you** for breaking protocol. True, it doesn't take me all that long to formulate what I want to say in what – in my mother's opinion – is cultivated speech. Still, it stops the flow of my natural thoughts, and that isn't helpful in the least. I sent with this letter a book you might find interesting, _Basic Wizarding Etiquette – a guide to teaching the next generation._ It's actually pretty old already, but Wizarding customs haven't really changed at all in the past two hundred years or so. I have taken it out of the Black Library, and while I am allowed to do that, I don't think I'm supposed to give these books to anybody else, so please take good care of it.

Personally, I have never tested the Trace, but Bella has, and I don't think the Ministry knows. Otherwise, you would have a lot less problems at school, I'm sure. Yes, I have seen you at Hogwarts before, and you have seem me as well, I am sure of it, but I don't judge you for not remembering. I know that you and my sister have never seen eye to eye, nor will you probably ever. I guess I am glad that you can see beyond my looks.

On another note – and I can't believe I didn't ask this sooner – how are you? Please don't push too hard in preparing for your exams, your health is the first priority. Also, I know you don't have an older sister like I do, so how did you know the Ministry couldn't track you at Potter Manor? Don't tell me the prim and proper Prefect Hermione Potter performed magic when not at school?

'Love' is perfectly fine.

Love, Andromeda

* * *

Dear Andromeda,

I do believe I will have to disappoint you. I did perform magic at Potter Manor, more than once. Admittedly, I was still kind of out of it because of the whole being unconscious for seven weeks thing, but well...

And 'prim and proper'? Have you not said you saw me at Hogwarts? Have you not seen my clothes? I hardly think they fall into that category.

On the 'how are you' topic, I'm glad to tell you I had my final check-up the day before yesterday. Madam Pomfrey and Healer Winters both cleared me. Do you know Healer Winters? She's apprenticing to become the next Administrator of St. Mungo's. I have been wondering about that for a while now, but I'm still at a loss as to **why** she would treat me.

Do you have any ideas/theories? I would love to hear them.

I got the date when I will be taking my O.W.L.s. I will be returning to Hogwarts one week early, as they either don't have the faculties needed at the Ministry, or don't want to provide them.

Don't worry, I'm not pushing myself too hard. A part of me wants to just freak out and study all day, like everybody does at Hogwarts, but then again, I've been through that, haven't I? Okay, maybe not really, but I don't know... I doubt it is productive to freak myself out over this...

What have you been doing the last week? I have been faithfully reading the book you sent me, and taking lots of notes. I'm sending it back with this letter, and I can't thank you enough! I have had lessons on these kind of things, yes, but it's been a long time, and it's been more of a basic overview than anything else, I have realized.

I suppose my parents wanted me to carry on in independent study or something similar, but I never did. Well, I do now, so I don't know if that still counts.

I will never judge you because you look like your sister, or paint you with the same brush. I'm sure I haven't repressed the memories of seeing you at Hogwarts, they probably just weren't notable enough to stand out.

Love, Hermione

* * *

Dear Hermione,

I'm glad you're not freaking yourself out. And yes, I have seen your clothes. I wasn't talking about that when I said 'prim and proper' though, and I know you know that. I don't think you have ever broken a singe rule in your life.

And yes, I have heard of Healer Winters. She was in the _Prophet_ a few months ago, when she took up her Apprenticeship. Why she would treat you, however, I have no idea. Maybe you are of some kind of personal interest to her? Maybe she knows your parents or something...

I haven't been doing much, lately. Life at Black Manor is, all in all, very boring. I sit in the gardens a lot, enjoying the nature and reading. Oh, and lessons continue, of course.

My two cousins will be coming over for five days in a week or so, their parents go on holiday. I don't know if I should be jealous that they are going to Black Island or happy that I get to see the two little boys. Sirius is seven and Regulus is six years old, and when they are here, it's always fun. They bring the house to life.

Thank you for giving back the book, and I'm glad it was of use for you. I'm sending another one, same 'rules' as before.

Love, Andromeda

* * *

Dear Andromeda,

Have you not read the book that you sent me? In your own words, I have 'never broken a single rule in my life'? Just by wearing what I do I am breaking more rules on proper attire than I even knew existed!

That's not going to stop me from doing what I want, though. I might tone it down a bit when necessary, but certainly not more. I have the right to express myself, you know.

I have been sewing new clothes, by the way. I know I probably shouldn't spend my time on such irrelevant things when I have O.W.L.s to study for, but what can I say? It helps me relax. And it's not like I have anything else to do with my time.

What are your cousins like? They have to be very vivacious to bring Black Manor to life. No offence, but if the whole building is as dark as the interior of the study, I can't imagine living there without becoming slightly depressive.

But you don't spend your time inside, do you?

I don't actually know where Black manor is located – and I in no way expect you to tell me –, but I'm jealous. Here I can only go outside for one or two hours after lunch on average, otherwise it would just be too cold.

I'm not yet through with the book, so I will give it back to you with the next letter.

Do you know my parents think you're my boyfriend? Well, now you do I guess. Swoosh is getting a great workout, though. Don't feel bad about it, he kind of needs it with all the owl treats my brother is constantly feeding him.

Love, Hermione

* * *

Dear Hermione,

Of course I have read that book. I don't think there is a single one on this or a similar out there that I haven't. Courtesy of being raised by Druella Black neé Rosier.

You sew your clothes yourself? In hindsight, it's sort of logical, as I don't think there is a shop that would sell garments as revealing as yours, but still. I'm impressed!

My cousins are very lively indeed, Sirius a lot more so than Regulus. Sirius is quite unlike what his name implies, he's always up to something, and more often that not, he manages to pull his little brother into whatever scheme he's come up with. Regulus actually likes Cissy the most, I think it's because she's the closet to him in age, so I only have to endure Sirius' antics for most of the time.

It can be exhausting, sure, but I love them nonetheless, and as I said, they make the house come to life. It does get kind of depressing sometimes, the study is a perfect representation of the rest of the Manor.

And what's that with you can only go outside for a few select hours everyday? Have you ever heard of warming charms? They are supposed to be taught at this school I believe you go to. Hogwarts? Ring any bells?

And your owl is called 'Swoosh'? That makes me almost glad that Bella chose to name ours Amberly, as stupid as I think it sounds. But well, that was the best my then eleven-year-old sister could come up with for an own with amber coloured eyes. Creative, I know.

Love, Andromeda

P.S.: I guess being your boyfriend isn't the worst your parents could think of me.

* * *

Dear Andromeda,

How dare you insult Swoosh? I have you know that he was aptly named as he always makes a swooshing sound when he alights.

Do you even know how stupid I feel right now? I not only got official permission to perform magic to study for the practical part of my O.W.L.s, but I also make active use of that every day. And still, have not thought of casting a warming charm on myself when I wanted to sit outside. It's not like I haven't been doing that at Hogwarts as well in winter.

By the way, I do think you can buy clothing as revealing as mine. I would recommend starting your search in Knockturn Alley, and possibly move on to certain muggle establishments. I do, however, doubt their style and quality is going to rival mine.

I'm currently contemplating if it would be a good thing or a bad thing if your cousin Sirius and my brother James met. They probably will anyways, once they get to Hogwarts, but you wouldn't believe the mischief my little brother is regularly getting into already. He's only seven!

Thank you for the book, I finally got through it. You're getting it back now, and no rule was broken.

Love, Hermione

P.S. I guess you're absolutely right.

* * *

Dear Hermione,

How dare **you** insinuate I have insulted your owl? I would never! I'm going to have to pay attention to the 'swoosh' when I get your answer, I haven't noticed before.

I do believe your brother and my cousin meeting can wait until they get to Hogwarts, if for no other reason that until then, I will have graduated and I hopefully don't have to deal with the mayhem they cause anymore. Believe me, two troublemakers is more than enough.

I am sending you one last book, after that I won't have you be distracted from your studies by me anymore. This one is probably the least useful in practical application, but I do think that knowing the history behind all our traditions is equally as important as knowing the etiquette itself. I don't think I will be able to write much after this letter, as once Sirius and Regulus have gone back home, my holidays will unofficially be over and I will have additional training to my lessons until I go back to Hogwarts.

Love Andromeda

* * *

Dear Andromeda,

Thank you for the book. I don't care what you said about its usefulness, I'm incredibly glad I have this now. You have no idea how stupid most of this etiquette stuff seems to me, so to get the opportunity to understand where it all came from is invaluable to me.

I hope that it will make acting as is expected of me easier, as right now, it feels like I have to turn into someone I am just not, merely to fit some set of standards. Do you know where I'm coming from?

I guess I won't be organizing a play date between Sirius and James, then. I don't think I would have managed anyway. I probably should concentrate on my studies more, shouldn't I? So I will probably also write less.

What is that training you get? And the lessons? More etiquette? Do you ever get a real break from it all where you can just do nothing for a few weeks, or even just days? I hope you can at least find the time to have a bit of fun in between everything else.

Just like you told me, please don't overwork yourself!

Love, Hermione

* * *

Dear Hermione,

I wish you the best of luck for your O.W.L.s! I know it's still more than a week, but I don't think I will be able to write to you again before that. Training is taking up more of my time than I had expected.

Also, thank you for the book. I got it and your Thank-You-Note the day before yesterday.

Love, Andromeda

* * *

Dear Andromeda,

Thank you for wishing me luck! You have no idea how nervous I am right now. I arrived at Hogwarts today via Floo, and tomorrow, I have to sit my first exams. Charms and Transfiguration. I am so nervous, you have no idea.

And I don't know if it makes it better or worse that there is no one but me, some of the teachers and the examiners.

Have you ever stayed behind at Hogwarts during the holidays?

If you have, it's similar, but still so different. It's creepy without any holiday decorations and the like to liven the castle up. I'm torn between wanting to revise as much as I can and just trying to relax.

If I don't look at my notes anymore and then I don't know something, I know I will hate myself for not reading through everything again. On the other hand, what I don't know now I won't learn in the few hours I have left, or at least that's what everyone always said to me.

I never really believed that, though. So... I don't know.

Love, Hermione

* * *

Dear Hermione,

I know you probably won't be getting this letter before I arrive at Hogwarts myself, but I wanted to tell you that, for appearance's sake, we won't be able to just talk to each other in person like we do now in our letters.

I like you, or at least the person I got to know over the last few weeks through this exchange of letters, but you know as well as I do that there has always been tension between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Add to that who my family is, who your family is and how because of the Debt there is even more tension than usual, and I think you get the overall picture.

I'm sorry about this, and I would love to add you to the – admittedly short – list of my friends, but it probably just wasn't meant to be.

Love, Andromeda

* * *

 **Remember that these are letters, and in a letter you can censor yourself a lot more than in a face-to-face conversation, and therefore it is easier to project e.g. a confidence that you don't really feel.**

 **Because I have gotten a complaint about that, and I can see how others would think the same: Bella will start showing up soon. Very soon, in fact. I needed these chapters to build a background, however, and for that I will not apologize.**

 **I am going on vacation for the next three weeks, and I won't have any Internet there, I know that for a fact. I will try and get some writing done, but no guarantees.**

 **And I haven't said it before, but THANK YOU to everyone who takes time out of their day to read this little story of mine. Thank you to all the reviewers, the follows and favourites, and also the silent readers.**

 **Reviews are very welcome, though I probably won't be able to respond until the second week of September when I get back.**


	8. Chapter 5

**Chapter 4**

* * *

 _Are you kidding me?!_

That was the only thing that went through Hermione's head as she stared at the letter that had just been delivered to her by Amberly. She had thought that, over the last few weeks, she and Andromeda had at least grown beyond casual acquaintances. In her mind, she had always compared it to being pen pals. They were friends through their letters.

And now, Andromeda thought she could just dismiss her, without even having a real reason to do so. Yes, there had always been tension between Gryffindor and Slytherin, but as Hermione had understood it, it had only become what it had been in her time with the rise of Voldemort. He was only starting to gather followers at the moment, and his few attacks on muggle homes had been dismissed as nothing more than random terrorist outrages, nothing to be worried about.

So, shouldn't they try to unite the two houses, or at least reduce the enmity between them, to hinder Voldemort from getting the people he wanted? And to bring forward the relationship between their respective Houses was, in Hermione's opinion, just ridiculous. Over the weeks she had invested some time in trying to understand the political situation of the Wizarding World, after it had become obvious to her how important that was, and it was clear to see for everyone who bothered to look.

The House of Black – or Lord Black – did not have a problem with the House of Potter, not at all. Their goal was it to secure their standing as the most influential House in Wizarding Britain, and reach that entirely on their own, without any alliances that could potentially tie them down in any way. And if Hermione recognized this, she was sure that Andromeda did too. After all, she was the one who had, more than once, told her about how many lessons she had had on these type of thing.

That alone, however, Hermione might have been inclined to accept, if it had not been for that last sentence. _It wasn't meant to be. Bullshit!_

Hermione didn't believe in fate. To her, it was just a bad excuse if all others failed. The only positive she could find in all of this was that Andromeda had at least not mentioned their ages. If she had, Hermione would have felt like Andromeda was breaking up with her. And that would have just been awkward and, because of that, would have fuelled her fury even more. Also, she was two years older. _Two years._ There wasn't any age gap to even speak of!

As it stood, it was better for everyone involved that the Opening Feast would only start in an hour. Rationally, Hermione knew she was somewhat overreacting. But her emotions didn't listen to that, unfortunately. She had done so well over the last few weeks. She hadn't cried a single tear since then, and she had more and more grown into who she was. There were still elements of Hermione Granger in her, and she still had all her memories, but there was unmistakably also Hermione Potter, influencing her personality.

At the final check up with Healer Winters – she still didn't know why she would be treating her – she had found out that her magical signature had changed. Not significantly, but more along the lines of the theory she had come up with. If magical signatures had colour, hers would have been a mix of yellow and blue before, and was now a perfectly blended green.

Anyways, she was angry. Because of that _stupid letter._ Deep down, she supposed she was actually hurt that what had seemed like her only friend, sort of, wanted to cut off contact. Without even having a proper reason to do so! That no-tears philosophy, however, had led to Hermione channeling her emotions in another way, namely fury. It wasn't great, yes, but it was probably still better than eating it all up and then exploding at the simplest things, like she had done in the past.

On the other hand, she had to calm herself down. She had an hour until she had to go down to the Great Hall and partake in the Feast. That had to suffice.

While studying for her O.W.L.s, Hermione had quickly noticed that her nerves were absolutely unnecessary. She had sat these exams once already, five years ago, and barring a few details, she still remembered everything.

So what she had done was read a lot of advanced texts, browsing the Potter Library to which she had been granted access about a week after the Formalization. She had been surprised when the doors opened before her, seeing as she hadn't reached majority yet, but now that she knew her magicalk signatures combined, she supposed it also changed her age. Not her physical age, of course, but the age of her magic, which was what the wards on the library scanned for.

That also meant that she hadn't truly needed the books Andromeda had sent her, but she had read them nonetheless. It was interesting, and she didn't want to hurt Andromeda's feelings. The result of all that extracurricular study, however, was that Hermione now knew more spells than ever, and most of them weren't exactly friendly. There was a war on the horizon, after all.

She would hate for any innocent to be caught with one of her hexes thrown in fury. And she didn't know if she could hold herself back if she went in with her current mood, and then saw Andromeda. Yes, she knew all the counters, theoretically, but she had never performed them. It wasn't like she had a willing test subject, nor would she ever find one, and she wasn't masochistic enough to curse herself.

Hermione doubted that any of them were truly Dark Magic, but a lot of them were at least borderline Dark, and even completely 'innocent' Light spells could do more than enough damage. Had they not won a war without any Dark Magic at all?

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She then proceeded to sit down on her bed. Living all alone in the Gryffindor Tower was a very weird experience indeed, Hermione thought. The privacy that inevitably came with it wasn't at all unwelcome, however.

The air around her had grown heavy with magic, probably her own, trying to get away from her. It was making it hard to breathe.

Hermione crossed her legs in a meditative pose and focused on calming down. She didn't want to hurt anybody, but in particular she didn't want to hurt Andromeda. Hermione was sure she had her reasons for wanting to distance herself from her. Also, as she had gathered form the lack of letters arriving from people inquiring about her well-being, Andromeda was the only person close to what she would call a friend, and she didn't want to destroy that.

Not just because she knew what it was like to not have friends, and she didn't like that feeling at all, but also because it was Andromeda. She was a Black now, but Hermione knew she would run away from home, elope with Ted Tonks and be disowned. Andromeda had said herself she didn't have many friends, and Hermione knew that the few she had, she wouldn't be able to associate with anymore after she had made her decision. They probably wouldn't even _want_ to be associated with a traitor.

And Hermione was feeling sorry for her, or the future her. Andromeda must not have had a good life. Hermione had never met her, even though Andromeda was taking care of Teddy Tonks, her grandson and Harry's godson. Her grandson must have been the only thing that gave her life some meaning, after both her husband and daughter had died. And of course, Hermione couldn't guarantee she would survive, but she wanted to be that fixed point in Andromeda's life, to provide her with something everyone needed, and Hermione wasn't sure she had ever had – except in Harry, maybe.

A real, true friend, that would stand by her, no matter what.

* * *

"I would like to take this time to introduce to all of you the new Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts, Professor Mercer."

Everyone clapped politely. It seemed like having a new DADA Professor every year wasn't news in this time either.

"Also, I would like to tell our new First Years, as well as remind some of the older students, that the Forbidden Forest was aptly named. Setting foot in it while not with a teacher will result in severe punishment. Furthermore, a list with all items banned from the castle can be found at Mr. Filch's office. I am sure if you ask him nicely, he will provide you with it. Well then, enough talk. Let the Feast begin!"

Dumbledore waved his hands and just like always, food started to appear on the plates. Hermione had managed to calm down somewhat, and had resolved to intercept Andromeda the next day before classes to talk to her.

 _It_ _'s_ _weird to be back_ , Hermione thought. It was so familiar, and yet strange. She had spent the last week at the castle, true, but now, with all the students back, it carried a whole different feeling.

Her assumption of not having any friends had been confirmed when she had made her way down to the Great Hall and people were going out of their way to not have to be near her. Or most people, that is. There were more than enough boys – Hermione couldn't bring herself to think of them as anything more than that – trying to talk her up. She supposed she should have expected it, but it had caught her entirely unawares.

Almost reflexively, she had managed to get out some witty replies, and she blamed it on years of experience with these things, all of which she couldn't remember. Surprisingly, Hermione didn't mind it as much as she thought she would. Not having friends was a relief, seeing as she wouldn't have to answer any questions about her behaviour, which had probably changed quite a bit. But when there was nobody there to even notice the change, well, who was she to complain?

And as much as she didn't like all those boys flirting with her – she wasn't stupid, she knew they just wanted to get in her pants – somewhere deep down, it made her feel flattered. And it made her feel confident. And she supposed that when her brain wasn't on vacation, retorting could be quite fun. Maybe a new hobby to look into.

Hermione snorted softly to herself, getting a look from the girl sitting next to her. Oh well, whatever. It astounded her how she just didn't care. Only a few weeks ago, in her old life, she knew she would have been so hurt. But now? Nothing.

It was liberating, sort of.

Hermione smiled. She would only be getting her results in the next few days, so she had an excuse to not have to go to classes. Officially, she didn't know if she would even be allowed to take them, so there. She snorted again when she thought of how Hermione Granger would have been up in arms about that decision. She had had that argument in her head more than once.

But honestly, why in the world would she want to take classes she had already had before, and knew everything they would be teaching and much more thanks to her extracurricular reading? She could use that time much more efficiently. Sewing and otherwise creating clothes had quickly become one of her favourite activities besides reading, and she wanted to keep it up.

The dessert was being served now, and despite already having eaten a lot, Hermione nonetheless served herself some cake. And in the evening, after everyone else had already fallen asleep, Hermione still sat in her dorm at the window and looked at the stars.

Her dorm mates had given her the silent treatment, and she had only barely even picked up their names. Lisa, Annalena and Melissa. Though who was who, Hermione had no idea. She had avoided looking at them as much as possible. They had reminded her of Lavender and Parvati, chatting about inconsequential things, gossiping, and she didn't want a single part of it.

She had learned early on that staying invisible could be quite useful in finding out about a lot of things. Not something she was about to give up, when it had been 'gifted' to her a second time. The stones beneath her were cold, and Hermione could feel the warmth being sucked out of her and the freezing air creeping in.

She didn't mind.

She had found that the cold helped her clear her thoughts, calm them down. And that was exactly what she needed now. She was overwhelmed by all the information, coming at her from all sides. She had tried to keep up with it, but it was hard, when all of it was so new, but still so familiar.

Old memories continued popping up, memories that didn't have a place where she was now.

Looking at the sky made it – somehow – all better, if only for a moment. The sky didn't change. It was the same now that it was thirty-four years in the future. And that, more than anything, reassured Hermione, at least for a moment.

* * *

The next day, Hermione felt great. She had gotten a healthy dose of uninterrupted sleep, or at least healthy for her. As someone who had been plagued my nightmares for the better part of her life, even five hours could be considered more than enough.

It was still quite early, and her room mates were still asleep as it was a Saturday. Hermione changed into some of the clothes she had sewn over the holidays, tight but covering rather much, especially her arms. She had begun reading into how to enchant the clothing while creating it, and she had equipped her shirt with a warming enchantment, based on the warming charm.

The idea she had gotten from Andromeda. Grudgingly, she had had to admit that sometimes, she was still thinking more like a muggle than a witch. After that embarrassing moment at the end of First Year she had become a lot better, but she couldn't ever be compared to some others that practically lived magic.

Before, she had always prided herself on not being as dependent on magic, not taking it for granted, but lately, she had been more and more bothered by that. It was probably due to her upbringing that she felt the way she did, but now she was a pureblood. She 'knew' – and actually really knew – a lot about the muggle world, but that was only out of the books in her shelf. She had never gone a day without magic. So why would she ever forget about its existence?

Hermione had, in her own estimation, made a lot of progress in the way of who she was now, and that was another reason why she was feeling so good today. Being back at Hogwarts brought so many familiar things with it that she couldn't help but feel a lot more comfortable than at Potter Manor, even though nostalgia was making it more difficult than it had to be.. Also, the sun was shining, she didn't have classes, she could access the Restricted Section of the library as a Sixth Year, _and_ she had time to search for Andromeda and talk to her.

There was a certain swing in her steps as Hermione went down to the Great Hall. Unsurprisingly, she was alone at breakfast, which meant she could relax even further and let down all of the guards she still had unconsciously put up. Nobody would be bothering her. Mentally, Hermione was already in the library and going through various books she wanted to check out and read.

She was pulled out of her reminiscing by a voice, coming from behind her on her right.

"Potter", it said. It was a boy who had spoken.

"Yes?", Hermione asked while turning around.

The boy looked to be about the same age as her, had dark skin and dark brown eyes. Also, he was wearing a Prefect's badge. The same one she herself had pinned to her robes. It only took her mind a moment to jump to a conclusion. She hadn't been on the train, because of her exams. Therefore, she didn't know her patrol shifts, nor the password to the Prefects' bathroom.

"I assume you have come to talk to me about the schedule?", she asked.

"Correct", the boy said.

She still didn't know his name. Her two personalities might be fully merged, but she only retained the memories of her life as Hermione Granger. The boy – she chose to call him Jack in her head – handed her two pieces of parchment.

"If you have any questions, come and talk to me."

He then made to turn away, but before he did, he added: "Oh, Head Girl is Sarah Hart and Head Boy Connor White. They're both Hufflepuff."

Aha. She had never heard of either of them.

On the parchments wasn't a lot of information. One piece held a schedule of patrols – Hermione would have to spend Thursday from 12am to 2am and Sunday from 10pm to 12am in the hallways – and the other one merely was a list of what privileges she had as a prefect, and the password to the Prefects' bathroom, which was 'balneo praefectorum'. Prefects' bathroom in Latin. Clever, though not really creative, Hermione supposed.

She threw one last glance at the schedule and was about to put it away, when her heart skipped a beat. Her patrolling partners on Thursday were a certain Marina Flores from Ravenclaw, a Caroline Fontane, and Professor McGonagall, and as usually the partners stayed the same, she hadn't bothered looking for her Sunday shift. At first, she thought her eyes were playing a trick on her, but the name didn't disappear, no matter how long she stared at it in barely concealed shock.

Instead of Marina Flores (and Professor Mercer, the new Defence Teacher, instead of Professor McGonagall), Sunday evening's shift had been filled with none other than Bellatrix Black herself.

 _Okay, don't panic, Hermione, don't panic. You can do this. Everything's going to be alright. You are patrolling different parts of the castle. You won't even see each other. You don't have to interact. And there's a Professor nearby if she_ does _attack you. The Professor for_ _DADA_ _nonetheless. The curse hasn't been in effect for that long, I don't think so, so Dumbledore would have no problem finding a competent teacher yet. It's going to be_ fine.

Despite that attempt at a pep-talk for herself, Hermione was practically on auto-pilot as she left the Great Hall and walked the ever so familiar steps through the castle to the library. She did her best to push worry about the patrols to the back of her mind, and actually succeeded, which was a nice surprise.

Madam Pince was already – or still? – there, and Hermione wondered not for the first time if maybe she had a twin with whom she alternated shifts. However else would she be present at almost all times?

"Miss Potter", Madam Pince nodded, and Hermione could only nod back slightly bewildered. She didn't think Madam Pince had ever acknowledged any student voluntarily, except to reprimand them for something, usually being too loud.

It didn't take long and Hermione was completely lost in her own world. The smell of the books invaded her senses, and she browsed the shelves, one after the other, pausing here and there to take out some or the other tome and leaf through it, getting lost in some passages, and sometimes putting it back immediately.

Hours later, when her stomach began hurting from hunger, she looked up from the book about warding she had been reading and when she checked the time, it was four o'clock in the afternoon already. With a heavy heart, Hermione put the book back on the shelf and went towards the section for Defence Against the Dark Arts. There was a war on the horizon, even it it might still take a few years until it fully arrived, and Hermione wanted to be prepared.

Better prepared than last time. Looking back, she was astonished again and again that they even survived. Defence had never been her best subject. She was too analytical to react instinctively, and she abhorred hurting people, even in self-defence.

Arithmancy and Ancient Runes had been the two subjects she had flourished in, and later on Warding, as it was oftentimes heavily intertwined with all kinds of Runes. Hermione knew that there were a lot of wards that did hurt people, but gaining theoretical knowledge and applying it in a concrete situation were two completely different things.

Hermione had the theoretical knowledge on how to create Horcruces, she had studied the subject as extensively as she could over the holidays after her Sixth Year. But never _ever_ would she, even in her wildest dreams, consider actually going through with the process. And that wasn't only because of the possible ramifications splitting your soul could have.

The thing was, now she would need to learn actually performing these spells. There were the so- called 'Light' spells, as well as 'Grey' and 'Dark'. Hermione was pretty sure there also existed something called 'Black Magic' that was even worse than the darkest Dark Magic, even though it was never elaborated upon in any of the books she had read, and she was confident that Horcruces fell into that category.

In the accessible part of the library – meaning everything except the Restricted Section – there were only 'Light' defensive spells to be found, and the occasional 'Light Grey'. For Hermione, however, that wasn't of concern. She had studied enough magic to know that 'Light' and 'Dark' didn't necessarily mean 'Good' and 'Bad' respectively.

It had taken her a long time to come to that conclusion, but in the years after the war she had had enough time on her hands, and that stupid ban on her buying more books _he_ had only set in place after about a year, enough time for Hermione to read all the books there were about the theories of the different kinds of magic.

Not that there had been very many legal ones that actually gave any substantial information. Most of them just said the same thing over and over again, that 'Light' was 'Good' and 'Dark' was 'Bad', something Hermione couldn't truly believe in anymore after she had found herself trapped in that marriage. The main reason she had even reconsidered her views in the first place. And what she had found out, it had opened her eyes.

Magic was dangerous. It was wonderful, yes, but more than anything, it could cause incredible damage. How had they won a war without resorting to Dark spells even once? The answer was a s simple as it was obvious. You didn't _need_ the so-called Dark Magic to hurt or even kill somebody else.

What was dubbed Dark these days was mainly the more uncontrollable magic, the more powerful magic. There were three factors that made your magic work; will, power and intent. You needed a strong will to control Dark Magic, something which less and lesser wizards and witches had, and in turn more and more accidents happened in which the magic got out of control.

Also, a lot of Dark Magic used a lot of power, either to initially cast it, or to keep the spell up. Many witches and wizards had fallen into a coma or even died, because they had magically exhausted themselves too fast or without them noticing.

And lastly, Dark Magic often needed intent to work properly. You had to mean it, and especially with the more violent spells, that was the reason many of the spells were banned. You had to visualize your results, and you had to see it happening before your inner eye.

Using that last criteria, Transfiguration would also fall under the mantle of Dark Magic, however it was very controlled (meaning that if you didn't have that control, nothing would happen, instead of unbound magic destroying everything in the vicinity), and you didn't necessarily need a lot of power to successfully transfigure something, depending on how complex the Transfiguration was.

That placed it – officially at least – in the Light Grey category, but as it was a base skill that every witch and/or wizard had to learn, that was usually ignored and Transfiguration was referred to as Light Magic. Bullshit, in Hermione's opinion, but that was how things worked.

And well, Light Magic was then, obviously, more or less the opposite of Dark Magic. It was controlled, you needn't be powerful to successfully cast the spells, and visualization usually wasn't a key factor. Now, that didn't mean there weren't any spells that were considered Light that you didn't need these things for, in fact having and applying all three would help anyone performing any kind of magic greatly, but those spells were so advanced and complex that most people didn't even bother learning them. What for, after all, if there was Dark Magic that could do it so much more easily?

Black Magic, now that was something entirely different. Black Magic, as far as Hermione's theory went, was what was truly evil. Sacrificing the lives of other, innocent people, or even just hurting anybody for your own gain was, in her opinion, unacceptable.

She hadn't found out much about Rituals or Blood Magic, as it was banned in Magical Britain, and had been for a long time, so she didn't know where to put those. Creating a Horcrux, for example, was also partly a Ritual, and that fell indubitably under Black Magic.

But she was certain there were also other Rituals, ones that didn't require human sacrifice. In which category would they fit, then? And Blood Magic was sacrificial, but was it also Black? You could use your own blood, after all, or others could give theirs willingly.

There just wasn't enough information on any of the two branches of magic, nor on several others Hermione couldn't place, and it was just frustrating! She had gotten around to picking three books that held her interest, all on offensive spells, and she went back to the front desk to check them out. She was already dreading the moment she had to actually use these spells on a living target, but for now she was more than happy to study the theory.

* * *

The rest of Saturday, as well as Sunday, went entirely as planned. Hermione spent most of her time reading, and after she had found an empty classroom on the fifth floor for practicing spells and curses. She had seen Andromeda over the two days, but the girl had never been alone, and Hermione had not had any opportunity to go up to her and request they talk.

She didn't like it, per se, but that was just the way it was at the moment, and probably she should plan out what she would say before approaching Andromeda anyways. She didn't want to inadvertently screw anything up and make things worse.

What came as a surprise was her O.W.L results. She had been under the impression it would take at least another week. As she thought about it, however, Hermione could very well imagine her Dad storming into the Ministry and demanding they hurry up with the corrections, lest his only daughter misses any classes that might be important for her future.

And while it didn't technically matter, Hermione was still very grateful her Dad had done this for her. Probably he had done it, she didn't actually know for a fact, but it did make sense. Her actual grades she would get from Professor McGonagall, or so she assumed from the summons she had gotten.

And on Sunday evening, only shortly after she had received notice of her Professor wanting to meet her, that was exactly what Hermione did, after she had grabbed a little something to eat from the kitchens. She hadn't been to any of the meals in the Great Hall, except a really early breakfast, as she didn't want to interrupt her working.

It was almost automatically that Hermione's feet carried her to her Head of House's office. She was so very familiar with the castle that she only had to think of where she wanted to go and the rest sorted itself out on its own. Or so it seemed, at least.

Hermione raised her right hand and formed it into a fist, before proceeding with knocking on Professor McGonagall's door three times. She had always wondered how that sound even carried through the thick wooden doors of the castle, but she supposed it had something to do with magic. Or physics, a science she didn't know as much about as she would like.

Interestingly, the door opened on its own, even before Hermione could hear the Professor's call of "Come in!".

She pushed the door fully open and closed it behind her, before walking up to Professor McGonagall's desk, behind which the witch was currently seated, drinking a cup of tea.

"Sit down, Miss Potter. Would you like some tea?"

Hermione was about to decline when she thought to herself _why not?_

"I would, thank you Professor McGonagall."

"Don't mention it. Why don't you sit down? Bonnie!"

Hermione pulled out the chair, and at the same time a house elf popped in.

"If you would be so kind as to bring my guest a cup of tea, Bonnie", Professor McGonagall said.

"Of course, Mistress", Bonnie answered, and returned only moment later with a cup identical to McGonagall's, steaming and filled with tea.

"Thank you, Bonnie."

"Thank you", Hermione said as well.

"So, now that that's out of the way, do you know why you are here, Miss Potter?", Professor McGonagall asked.

"I assume it has to do with my O. ."

"You assume right. I will be giving you the results now, together with your timetable. You will be required to choose at least three subjects that you will continue and take your N.E.W.T.s in. I advise you, however, to not choose more than those five, or maybe six at the most. The final two years are a lot of work, without adding more to your platter."

"I understand, Professor". Hermione said.

She wondered if she had gone through that same time-turner fiasco in this life as she had in the one she remembered.

"Then these are your official results. I will give you some time to look at them, and decide on the subjects you want to continue."

Hermione took the envelope she was offered, and didn't even bother reading the congratulations part. Her eyes immediately jumped down to the results, and she let out a breath she didn't even realize she had been holding at seeing her grades. All Outstanding, even Defence this time. She had expected nothing less of herself.

One of the biggest fears Hermione was dealing with at the moment however was that she would get too overconfident in her abilities, and, because of that, fail when it was most important. Before, it had cost a lot of people their lives, most notably Sirius. And an Outstanding in her Defence O. in no way qualified her – or anyone else – for surviving a war.

After some minutes of contemplation, Hermione cleared her throat.

"Um... I have decided", she said.

Professor McGonagall only nodded. Hermione took this as a sign to just go on.

"I would like to continue taking Charms, Potions, Transfiguration, Defence, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes."

"Six subjects? I shouldn't have expected anything less from you. Just be careful not to burn yourself out, Miss Potter."

Hermione nodded.

"Of course, Professor."

She had chosen the same subjects she had the last time around, with the exception of Herbology. She didn't want to ruin her chances for a career because of not wanting to waste her time on classes she already took, but she didn't think Herbology would be relevant for whatever she was going to do. Last time, she had only taken it because of its importance for potions. And she still had one class more than what was the recommended maximum, so she didn't have to have a bad conscience for slacking. She wasn't, after all.

McGonagall took out a piece of parchment and tapped it with her wand multiple times. When she was finished, she gave to Hermione.

"Your timetable, Miss Potter. I trust you will find the classrooms on your own."

Hermione chuckled.

"I will, Professor, don't worry about that."

"Good. Was there anything else I could assist you with? Your grades don't seem to have taken any toll from your experience at the end of last year, but if there is anything you need help with, please know that as your Head of House, I will always do my best to make things easier for you."

"Thank you, Professor. I am fine now, but if there ever comes something up, I will not forget your offer."

"That is all I could ask of you, Miss Potter. If there isn't anything else, I bid you a good night."

"Good night to you too, Professor", Hermione answered.

She rolled the parchment that contained her timetable up and put it in the pocket of her robes. She would look at it back in her dormitory. She turned around, her gaze brushing over the various shelves in the office, about to leave the room and go back to Gryffindor Tower, when something caught her eye.

It was a chess set, simple as that, but it made her hesitate. It brought up memories that in turn pulled feelings to the surface she could definitely do without. It reminded her of her First Year, when they had gone to rescue the Philosopher's Stone, and faced the huge chess set, transfigured by none other than Professor McGonagall. It reminded her of Ron's selfless act of sacrificing himself in the game, and of all the other games of chess she had ever played, both against him and Harry.

And it made her remember how she had never, even once, even tied with Ron, much less actually won. In this particular moment, it made her angry, even more so than usually. Now, it wasn't just about the embarrassment she felt whenever she wasn't the best, because being the best was something she expected from herself, always, but it was also about the injustice of _Ron_ being better than her.

He had stifled her and her growth, had forbidden her from reading, or at least buying more books, had restricted her life in unimaginable ways, and to top thing off, he had taken advantage of her, mentally, emotionally and physically. Sexually.

And it was that moment of seeing the chess set on a shelf in Professor McGonagall's office that lighted a fire in Hermione. She might not ever see Ronald Weasley again, but she was _not_ letting him be better than her at _anything_.

"It everything all right?", Professor McGonagall's voice snapped Hermione out of her thoughts.

And before she could think anything else, or stop herself, she blurted out: "Can you teach me how to play chess?"

"Of course, Miss Potter. But don't you already know how to play the game?"

"Yes, I do", Hermione replied. "But want to get better at it. Like, _really_ good. And you are the best chess player that I know of and can ask to teach me, to help me improve."

Professor McGonagall just looked at her, as if to evaluate her motives. A long moment later, she nodded.

"Fine, I will teach you. However, if I notice you neglecting your schoolwork because of this, lessons are over. Forever."

"I understand."

"Do you have time, still?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I imagine I will be very busy over the coming week or two as the school year restarts", Professor McGonagall explained. "So if you want to start immediately, as I somehow have got the impression you do, now would be the time."

Oh. It seemed like Hermione was still a lot more transparent than she would like. Well, in this case it didn't do any harm, so she supposed it was fine.

"I will stay, then", Hermione said and moved towards the shelf.

"Don't bother", Professor McGonagall said, took her wand from where it was lying on the desk beside her, and flicked it once. The set immediately appeared on the table before her.

"Oh." Hermione moved to sit back down, and took her wand out of her sleeve where she kept it to put it on the table next to her.

"Do you want to be black or white, Miss Potter?"

"I think I'm gonna go with white." "She had always been white for some reason. She was just more comfortable with that colour.

"Good. Then it's your move."

Hermione smiled.

"I know. Pawn to E4."

"Pawn to D6", Professor McGonagall countered.

The game had begun.

* * *

The door closed with an almost silent click, that echoed through the hallways. It was late, though Hermione had no idea how late exactly, and there was not a single sound to be heard. It was also dark, despite the torches on the walls, and cold. Hermione could hear her breathing, and when she took a step, that too echoed.

She could feel her heartbeat, strong and steady, if a bit fast, and she took out her wand. She knew it was foolish to be afraid, and she really wasn't, but she did feel a little uncomfortable. She had lost the first game spectacularly, and quickly, The second as well. The third was only slightly better.

Instead of allowing herself to grow frustrated, however, Hermione pushed on. She was determined to get better at chess, and only when she noticed her eyelids threatening to fall closed every few seconds or so, she had admitted to herself she probably should retire for the evening.

Maybe her tiredness was cause for her bad feeling, and... did she hear a laugh? No, that must have been her imagination. Hermione took a few steps forward, but paused when she heard it again.

No, that wasn't her senses playing trick on her. Someone was out here, and they were giggling. Hermione had already mentally steeled herself for an attack when she snapped out of it.

Dark? Quiet? Faint giggling? Those were all the telltale sign of a couple making out. Not more, not less. She was just overreacting. She started walking normally, if a little faster than usual, towards Gryffindor Tower. She was still out of bounds, after all, and it wouldn't to to be caught. Being a Prefect didn't exempt you from detention, unfortunately.

When Hermione reached a wall on the third floor, she hesitated. Behind that wall there was a staircase, a short one that nonetheless led up to the seventh floor, to an alcove just two hallways from Gryffindor Tower. She had used it very often in the past, or future, be that as it may.

Now, however, she wasn't sure. There were many unknown factors still that played into the layout of the castle, and she didn't want to get herself into trouble. _Oh, screw it!_ , she thought angrily at herself. Could she be just the slightest bit more over-dramatic? She didn't think so. She traced the pattern of the _raido_ rune – Elder Futhark – on the wall, and just as it had many times before, it opened up and allowed Hermione to step through.

She had discovered that particular secret passage in her Fourth Year, when she had taken to scanning the whole castle for hidden runes after Professor Babbling had told them about the warlocks of old times doing just that to protect their either non-magical people, or just the ones that weren't magically strong or educated.

The wall was just about to close again when Hermione froze. There was that giggle again, and she could now make out that it was definitely feminine, and it sounded like it was coming from just beside her ear. It took Hermione about a second to snap out of it, and then she immediately drew her wand and whirled around.

By doing that, she could feel _something_ , probably the girl the giggle originated from, being pushed back.

"Who are you?", Hermione sharply asked.

Her only answer was a giggle again.

"Reveal yourself!", she commanded.

She had slipped into the mindset she had had during the war, and she knew if the person didn't turn out to be a friend in the next few moments, it would be strike first, talk later.

"Why should I? It's so much more fun like this."

This childish voice. It seemed familiar, somehow. It made shivers run down her back, and it made her afraid. She _hated_ being afraid.

What to do? Firing anything potentially lethal was something Hermione wanted to avoid, however, she couldn't see her opponent. If she chose to attack her, she wasn't sure if she could afford sending back only a stunner. What if she didn't hit? She could be the one to die, then.

"One last chance", Hermione almost growled. "Otherwise, I will not guarantee your continued well-being."

She was glad her threat sounded convincing. She wasn't sure if she could actually follow through with it.

"Ooh, you're fun again", the voice cooed. "How _long_ I've waited to see this again!"

Wait, _what?_

"Umm..."

"Oh, come on. Don't return to being boring again, _please?_ "

Hermione could practically hear the pout in the other witch's voice. There was still a dangerous edge to it, however, one that didn't allow her to let down her guard. Suddenly, Hermione gasped. Whoever it was had somehow moved around her and was now pressing up against her back, pushing up her chin with her wand.

For just the tiniest moment, Hermione had a flashback to the battle in the Department of Mysteries in her Fifth Year, of being threatened like that, but before she could even properly register it, it had passed.

"Surprised you, didn't I?"

When Hermione stayed silent, she felt the wand being pushed up further.

" _Answer me_."

It was a mix of whispering and hissing that hit Hermione's left ear, and a lot of hot air.

"Yes, you surprised me", Hermione pressed out, while her mind was going into overdrive again.

How was she supposed to get out of there? She lacked the physical strength to do much against anybody, plus she abhorred violence. Also it was dark and even if her opponent wasn't invisible, there wasn't much she could do.

That's when she remembered she still had her own wand in her right hand. Slowly, carefully, she moved it backwards, until she was poking it into the other witch's side. She only giggled.

"You _are_ coming into your own again", she whispered, sounding almost impressed. "Now, don't go telling this to anybody, but I had almost lost hope you would. I'm proud of you."

Hermione could only feel disgust at that. Who was this person, and who was she to judge Hermione, threaten her and all the while not even making herself visible to her? It was cowardly, and still, Hermione felt fear. And she didn't even know _why_ , another factor that made her angry.

"Leave me alone!", she hissed.

"Never."

Hermione scowled. She wanted to curse the witch, make her leave, but something was holding her back.

"I _do_ have to go for the moment, though", she said. "Don't miss me too much."

Her lips touched Hermione's cheek, so faintly she thought she imagined it, and with only a slight draft of air staying behind, the other girl moved away swiftly. There might have been a cackle echoing through the hallways, one that was eerie and more than just the slightest bit creepy, but it was seemingly coming from so far away, Hermione wasn't sure if she had truly heard it after all.

* * *

 **Unfortunately, I didn't get as much writing done over my vacation as I wanted to, which means that the next chapter will be posted once I finish.**

 **Reviews are, as always, very welcome :)**


	9. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

The moment Hermione woke up the next day, she knew it was going to be a horrible day. She was tired, every single muscle felt heavy and she had a pounding headache. The only explanation she had for actually getting out of bed and down to the Great Hall was determination. She could not, _would_ not miss her first day of classes.

With the noise at breakfast, however, and the lights, her headache only got worse, and despite her reluctance, she eventually went to Madam Pomfrey to get a Headache Potion. She didn't want to, not if there was even the slightest possibility it could get back to Professor McGonagall, who might then cancel their barely begun chess lessons, however she didn't see another way to be able to concentrate.

A quick glance on her schedule told her she would be having Ancient Runes first, then Defence and, after lunch, Potions. Also, it told her it was Monday, which meant yesterday had been Sunday and she had missed her very first patrolling shift. Way to make a good impression!

She was in too much of a hurry to really care however. The internal arguing of whether to go to the Hospital Wing or not had cost her more time than she had thought.

The first surprise Hermione got that day was when she stepped into the Ancient Runes classroom – as the first student to arrive, as always, despite her 'lateness' – and didn't find Professor Babbling, but a male Professor with short greying hair and a friendly smile. Over the course of the lesson, she found out that his name was Professor Proctor.

Professor Babbling must have been younger than Hermione thought she was, but then again, she had always been bad at telling a person's age, and with wizards and witches it was only worse. Also, the class had gotten her all excited all over again. They would now, after having had three years to learn the basics, start to create their very own rune clusters and basic wards. All the possibilities you had, with all the different languages, and materials and even tools and etching techniques were just... she couldn't even find an appropriate word for it.

In her excitement, Hermione didn't even notice the presence of one Bellatrix Black until the Professor called upon her, at the very end of the lesson. It took her less then a moment to realize that this was the same Bellatrix that had tortured her, that had haunted her nightmares for the last three years.

 _I will not panic, I will_ not _panic_ , she told herself over and over again, doing her best to keep her breathing even. When the lesson ended, Hermione was the first one to leave the classroom. Her parchment and quill still in her hand, she stormed out of the door, and almost automatically, her feet carried her to the Defence classroom.

She took only a moment to catch her breath, and she let herself fall onto the chair right in the front. It was where she had always been sitting, and as she put her parchment from Runes into her bag and took out a new one, she realized there was another advantage to this seating arrangement.

There were only rarely two groups after OWL level because there just weren't enough students that took a particular subject, and there also were less students in general. The odds of Bellatrix being in Defence with her were a lot higher than she would have liked, and if she was sitting in the very front, it would be easiest to ignore her presence.

How had she not realized Bellatrix was in the same year as her? Well, it didn't matter. She would have to deal with that now, on top of everything else. She was stronger now, and she might have been a Gryffindor, but there were still some things that got to her; the implications of having to share classes with Bellatrix Lest-, well _Black_ for now, among them. Just thinking of what awaited her in the coming two years was enough to give her another panic attack. Almost.

The classroom filled up behind her and to her never ending relief Hermione was left alone in the front row. The students were still chatting, catching up or complaining about their classes, and in general not paying attention. Hermione's gaze however was fixed to the front, and she only flinched slightly when in the blink of an eye, someone was suddenly facing her.

Her wand was in her hand at once, a spell on her lips when the woman in front of her smiled. It gave Hermione the pause to see that she was, in fact, not threatening her in any way. The woman – who Hermione assumed was their Professor for that year – put one finger to her lips, asking for Hermione to stay silent.

Hermione nodded in agreement, and leaned back in her chair. Hopefully, this was going to be entertaining for her. The Professor only stood there for a moment, looking over the class. Nobody seemed to even notice her presence. Hermione didn't want to turn around to make sure, though. The risk of seeing Bellatrix and reverting back to an emotional wreck was too great.

There was another smile grazing the Professor's lips, obviously somebody had caught her attention, the way Hermione herself had. Still smiling, she took out her wand and performed some spells with it. Silently. After a while, Hermione noticed two things at once. One, it was getting more and more quiet around her, and two, the Professor was casting not different spells, but one and same, over and over again.

It took only a few more moments, a few more well aimed spells, and the whole classroom was silent. Satisfied, the Professor put away her wand in her left sleeve. Apparently, she now had the attention of everybody. Again, Hermione didn't dare turning around to make sure.

"Now that you are actually paying attention, let me introduce myself", the Professor said. "My name is Serena Mercer, and I will be your Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts this year, as you have undoubtedly gathered already.

"Now that you are in the sixth year of your education, you have passed the exams that make you a qualified witch or wizard, and theoretically could have ended your schooling. There are many jobs in this world that do not require you to pass the so-called N.E.W.T.s. However, here you are. Why?

"You are privileged to be able to go to Hogwarts, the best school of magic there is. It has earned its title, and you attending here makes it almost compulsory for you to complete not five but seven years of education. You are privileged, remember that. Always.

"That also means, however, that there are things being asked from you now that would not be asked of the average witch or wizard in our society. You are not only expected to pursue this additional qualification, but you are expected to do well. You are expected to be successful. And that can be a hard burden to carry.

"Carry it with pride, however, because while it might be hard sometimes, and while you might not have chosen this for yourself, it is still a great opportunity. So make the best of it."

Hermione had to admit, the speech her new Professor just gave was very inspiring.

"That means, you will pay attention in my class. You will complete your assignments, by yourself. And you will always, _always_ give your very best. Because for every one of you, there is a hundred or more kids out there that desperately wish to have this opportunity. To get a proper education. To be able to sit their NEWTs, or even just their OWLs.

"Not everybody is as privileged as you are, so give it your all."

After that, it was quiet in the classroom. The sort of quiet that could otherwise only ever be achieved while writing a test. You could have heard a needle drop, and Hermione was sure that she was not the only one trying to keep her breathing flat so it wouldn't be too loud and attract unwanted attention.

Under the table, she was discreetly fiddling with her wand, it comforted her only slightly in this tense silence. Constant Vigilance! She had learned that one the hard way.

"Now that you all are suitably impressed", Professor Mercer continued after another moment or two, "we will start our lesson. Please get up and move your bags to the side, we will be having a practical today."

Hermione did as she was told, all the while her brain was going into overdrive already. Having a practical first lesson was something she had mixed feelings about. She didn't much fancy a demonstration of the Unforgivables – again – especially after the war. Unfortunately, they were officially Sixth Year material.

"Now stand to the side please", Professor Mercer said, and with a wave of her hand, the tables moved to one side and stacked neatly at the wall. Then, she took out a piece of chalk and held it up.

"Who of you have Ancient Runes?"

Hermione slowly raised her hand. As they were now standing in a semi circle, she could not help but notice Bellatrix raising hers as well. One of the girls she was sharing a dorm with – not the blonde one –, a boy from Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor whom she suspected was one of the Prewett twins, judging from his red hair and the identical looking boy next to him, apparently also had Runes.

She had noticed none of the in the previous class. Situational awareness was obviously something she needed to work on. But could she really be blamed for paying attention in class instead of surreptitiously trying to look around?

"Very well, does any one of you want to enlighten the class on how to go about constructing a functioning ward with this?"

Hermione's hand fell back down as she searched her mind for the appropriate information. She knew that circles could be drawn in chalk, and depending on various factors, such as the colour of the chalk or the size of the circle, the runes used would be powered differently.

All the books she had read about that topic, however, had not gone into much more detail than that, because runic circles were just a simplified form of ritual, and those were banned in Britain. Also, they were only a step down from runic casting, and while that wasn't banned, it was still restricted.

Hermione was sure there was a good reason for that, but still she didn't like it. And not just because it had cost her the points for the answer. She couldn't put her finger on what exactly bothered her, however.

"Nobody?", Professor Mercer asked.

Hermione kept her hand down. If she couldn't give a full answer, she preferred to not give one at all.

"Alright, it doesn't really matter. Let's just say that this gives me the opportunity to design a fully functional duelling ward without having to rely on wardstones or similar."

"What for?", one of the probably-Prewett twins asked.

"I thought that was obvious. We'll be duelling today. Don't worry, nothing fancy. Everyone will have to duel everyone, and after sixty seconds, if you have not already defeated your opponent – or been defeated by them – I will stop the duel. This is so I can see where you're at. Sixth Year is the year you will be learning about wordless casting, and the main focus lies on spells and defending yourself against other wizards, so this is only the natural course of action to take."

In her mind, Hermione nodded along to what Professor Mercer was saying. She already knew this, but it wouldn't do to show that. She would have to be careful, as not to reveal anything. She could name _at least_ ten people off the top of her head who would kill for the kind of information she had. If literally or metaphorically.

"Also, there are only non-lethal spells allowed. No Unforgivables, and nothing that cannot be easily fixed by anyone who has not been trained in Healing. Understood?"

Mumbles of assent filled the room, signalling that they indeed had. Hermione only nodded. If she had learned anything in the past few years then it was that this rule would inevitably be broken. Maybe not immediately, maybe not even today, but sooner or later, it would be.

There was war on the horizon.

"Very well. Rest assured that you will not like the consequences should you breach this agreement. I'm going to start in alphabetical order. So, first up are Black against Bones."

Hermione watched as the very witch she wanted to ignore took the stage, so to speak, and a male Hufflepuff. He had reddish brown hair, and Hermione wondered if he was maybe related to Susan Bones, who had been a Hufflepuff in her Year and also in the DA. Maybe he was even her father. As far as she knew, Susan's whole family except her aunt had been wiped out in the First War. So this boy probably had not too many years left in the world of the living. Oh, what a joyous thought.

Hermione watched Professor Mercer draw a circle of runes on the stone floor of the classroom, using that to distract herself. Most of the runes Hermione didn't recognize, and that was saying something, considering she had at least superficially studied all the runic languages there were, and so should be able to identify them all.

Her thoughts were cut off when Professor Mercer stepped back and told the two students in the circle to begin. It was obvious to Hermione that both of them had some sort of training already. They moved fluently, and assured of themselves. However, where the Bones boy was struggling to keep his defences up and dodge spells, Bellatrix was completely on the offensive and not even breaking a sweat.

In only a few seconds, she had clearly won the upper hand, and Hermione knew it was only a matter of time until Bones was defeated. Bellatrix was toying with him. It only took a few more seconds, and Bones stumbled while evading a disarming spell and was caught right in the middle of his chest with a stunner. Bellatrix just stood there, a self-satisfying smirk on her lips.

Professor Mercer stepped forward and added something to the circle, before stepping in and reviving Bones. Then she turned to face the class, who had broken out in cheers only moments before. Or at least part of the class had cheered. Hermione, and several other students around her, had stayed completely silent.

"Well done, you two. We will be moving on with Burke and Flint."

And in that manner, the duels continued. The first opponent Hermione faced was a boy called Johnson, whom she recognized as the Prefect who had given her the patrol schedule. Now that she knew his name, she couldn't help but immediately Hermione jump to Angelina Johnson, and wonder if he could be her father.

 _Stop thinking of these things, Hermione_ , she chastised herself.

Also, she defeated him, without much of a problem. After everyone had fought once – they were fourteen, so it worked out perfectly – the victors continued facing each other, until the 'best' was determined. Then it continued, duelling for second place, third place, and so on and so forth.

The system was very complicated, and Hermione was very surprised Professor Mercer did not once lose track of it. The winners of separate duels were to face each other in a new one, and the losers as well. Then, once there was an order established in one duelling round, the respective victors, and runner ups etc. would once again face each other.

All in all, it was a bit of clever manoeuvring and a lot of luck that Hermione did not only place in the upper middle field at the very end – or that's where she thought she had ended up, she wasn't one hundred percent sure – and had at the same time avoided having to face Bellatrix in a duel.

Professor Mercer _did_ say everyone would have to face up against everyone, and Hermione was positive that the fact she hadn't duelled Bellatrix had not gone unnoticed. However, the lesson was drawing to a close, and everybody had been sufficiently exhausted by their duels. Professor Mercer called for silence once again.

"All right", she said. "I have now gotten an insight into how far along each one of you is, and I will be spending my time analysing this information and putting together a final curriculum that will hopefully bring out the best in every single one of you. If you have any questions still, feel free to ask, however I might not have an answer until next week."

All right then.

"None? Then, I ask you to put back the desks and bring the classroom back in order, and after that, you are dismissed." Hermione took a step back as a chair almost hit her while floating back to its original position. Then, she grabbed her bag from where she had put it down at the beginning of the lesson and exited the classroom. As she was walking down the corridors, she couldn't help but wonder about two things, however.

One, had Professor really not noticed she had not fought against Bellatrix, and if she had, why had she not said or done something? And two, why hadn't she removed the runic circle on the floor before putting back the desks and chairs?

* * *

Lunch was like it always had been. Loud, chaotic, and uncomfortable. As much as she had longed for friends ever since she was about five years old, she still didn't particularly like being among so many people, pressed on a bench, and inadvertently getting at least one elbow pushed into her rib cage.

She wasn't sure, but it felt like it was even worse now than I used to be. Maybe that was only because for the last few years, she had eaten alone for the most time, and never with more people than ten or so when she was at the Burrow, where there was enough space, at least for eating.

Not that it mattered, really. She would have to deal with it. Well, she supposed she could miss lunch and get go get something from the kitchens later. And while not her preferred solution, over the course of the meal, it seemed more and more enticing.

The only other difference Hermione noticed was that there were mainly boys crowding around her, all very unsubtly trying to sneak a peek on what was or possible wasn't under her school uniform. She noticed it almost from the get go, and had to do her best to suppress rolling her eyes. It was annoying, yes, and also slightly uncomfortable, but more than that, Hermione caught herself enjoying it.

The moment the realization fully hit, she had almost choked on her food. Hermione Granger did not enjoy people leering at her as if she was nothing more than a cheap lady of the night, than you very much! However, she was no longer Hermione Granger, she was Hermione Potter, and much as it hurt to admit it to the part of her that was still Hermione Granger, she liked it.

It made her feel attractive, and appreciated. Not that she would ever do anything with any of them, on course. But nonetheless she relished in the feeling of gazes appraising her, the hum that was in the air, the slight tension.

And it gave her power. With the right gestures, the right movements, and the right words, she knew she could make them do whatever she wanted them to do. And part of her was disgusted at that, but more than that, the knowledge made her feel secure. She knew she could defend herself, should anybody try something, and she had been feeling so powerless these last few years that anything was better than nothing.

Still, the moment dessert was served, Hermione stood up and left the Great Hall to make her way to the Library. She had runic circles to investigate.

* * *

"Miss Potter, glad to see you could make it."

When Hermione entered the Potions classroom, she was out of breath, her face flushed, and only gave Professor Slughorn a small smile before hurrying to the front. The reasons for this entrance were twofold. One, she had gotten caught up in the library and only just put the book she had been reading aside in time to make it to her next class.

And secondly, in her hurry she had unfortunately forgotten that unlike Professor Snape, Professor Slughorn did not conduct his lessons in the dungeons. She had only realized that once she was there and nobody else was, however, so she had gotten quite a workout running back up all these staircases, all the while hoping that Slughorn had re-used his 'usual' room in her original Sixth Year and she wouldn't be stranded on the corridors with no clue where to go. That wager had luckily paid off, because if not, she would have probably had a minor breakdown right where she was standing.

"Now then, as we are finally complete, we can start. Those of you in the rows further back, why don't you stand up and come to the front so you can see better."

Hermione just stayed at her seat, as she was in the first row already. Right in front of the teacher's desk, where nobody ever wanted to sit. Her breathing was still a little irregular, but nonetheless she looked up to find several potion-filled cauldrons standing in front of her. He wouldn't, would he?

"So, whom of you can tell me what these potions are?"

Oh yes, he would. He had not changed his lesson plan in the slightest bit. There were four different potions. Veritaserum, Polyjuice, Amortentia and Felix Felicis. If she remembered correctly, they were the exact same potions he had presented them the first time. Or could one even talk about the 'first' time if it had happened in the future?

No matter. Fact was, they would probably be brewing the Draught of Living Death today, and the winner would be rewarded with a small bottle of Felix Felicis, enough for a whole day. That lesson had imprinted itself in Hermione's mind, even if only because she had been jealous of Harry beating her with the help of the Half-Blood Prince, who had turned out to be Professor Snape.

On one hand, Hermione really did want to win this, on the other hand she knew that Potions were not really her strength. Oh, she could follow the instructions perfectly, and because of that her potions always turned out exactly they way they were supposed to, but she didn't have any of the intuition needed to make even the slightest modification to fix any possible mistake. If she wanted to change anything, she always had to double check her facts, and having learned them by heart made that only slightly easier.

Anyway, there were no real surprises. Professor Slughorn set the assignment just as expected, with the reward just as expected, and everyone started gathering ingredients and working on their potion. Even with the instructions of the 'Half-Blood Prince' in mind, Hermione religiously followed the recipe in the school book. She wouldn't risk a potentially fatal accident because she misremembered some small detail. With the given instructions, her potion still turned out as close to perfect as possible. It was definitely better than the first time she had brewed it, which did make her wonder what she had done differently this time around. When Professor Slughorn came around to look into her cauldron, he smiled.

"Very well done, Miss Potter", he said. "So far one of the best I have seen. But with an OWL score like yours, what else was one to expect?"

"I don't know, Professor", Hermione answered.

"So modest", he laughed. "I have to get going, Miss Potter. Look at what the others have been doing."

"Of course", Hermione said.

Once he was talking to the next student, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't particularly like the man, no matter how much of a good teacher (or at least better than Snape) he might be. A few minutes later, he came to the front again, and clapped his hands once to get everybody's attention.

"Alright, time's up! I have been going around, and interestingly enough, there are two potions equal in quality. Miss Potter-", Hermione's smiled at having her name called "and Miss Black have both brewed a potion that I myself could not have done better. So they will both be receiving one bottle of Felix Felicis. Use it wisely."

It took a moment for her to register, but when she did, Hermione's heart skipped a beat for a moment. Miss Black. Bellatrix Black. She was in this classroom. With her. And she hadn't even noticed. In hindsight, she was actually fairly glad, as at least she had been able to concentrate on her potion, on the other hand, it filled her with dread.

One day already on which she couldn't flee her past. Where she would never be able to relax properly in class and focus on what was important.

Her classmates clapped politely, and from her peripheral vision, Hermione saw a witch with long black curls go to the front. She would have to face her. Now. Swallowing once and putting on a brave face – she was a Gryffindor after all – Hermione got up as well, and stood to the side as

Professor Slughorn was shaking Bellatrix's hand and congratulating her, while handing her the potion vial. When it was her turn, Hermione listened only with half an ear to what her Professor was saying, smiling and thanking him politely. The rest of her attention was captured by the feeling of Bellatrix's gaze upon her.

She didn't know what to make of it. It felt... odd. Not quite aggressive, or hateful, but still provoking, and challenging. Full of calculation. And uncomfortable, definitely uncomfortable in every possible way. As if the other witch could see everything, knew everything about her. It was very unnerving.

Still, Hermione smiled tentatively at her, and even managed a small "congratulations" that was only met by a small smile. Not a good one. Playful, in the lethal kind of way, Hermione supposed. When that moment had passed, thankfully they were both allowed to go back to their seats and pack their stuff.

Hermione filled a little of her potion in a glass vial and put her name on it so Professor Slughorn could grade it – even though she knew she would get an Outstanding – and the rest, she filled in a bigger bottle which she then shrunk and put into her pocket.

She didn't think students were supposed – or even allowed – to keep the potions they brewed in class, but she wanted to keep it. And she didn't think anyone had seen her, so...

She realized that as Hermione Granger, she would never have done that, but that wasn't who she was anymore. And wasn't it interesting how often she remarked to herself in her head that she was a different person now?

She guessed she had not completely accepted it yet, and that was why. Or maybe it was because she felt this irrational need to justify all she did, and if only to herself. She really wasn't sure if that was a healthy habit to be getting into.

* * *

Her constant overthinking and justifying led her to a rather disquieting realization just after she returned to Gryffindor after her last lesson on Tuesday. She was becoming more separated again. During her stay at Potter Manor, Hermione Potter and Hermione Granger had merged so completely into one another that her magical signature was entirely changed.

But now, at Hogwarts, she was starting to fall apart again. It was obvious to her, once she sat down and really thought about it, sitting comfortably in her bed, that the personality of Hermione Potter and the memories of Hermione Granger didn't quite fit together. When distracted, she would react more instinctively, and the moment her brain caught up, she was justifying her thoughts and actions before herself.

She was two different people.

What her instincts told her wasn't what her brain said she should think, or how she should act. Hermione did blame it on Hogwarts, in some way. It was here that Hermione Granger's memories came to the forefront, and upset the delicate balance she had found at Potter Manor. And when that realization hit, Hermione wanted to just turn around, bury her face in her pillow and cry.

She had sworn to herself she wouldn't cry anymore, so she held back.

Only for then to question if it was Hermione Potter who didn't want to cry, or Hermione Granger, who had learned not to show weakness in the worst of possible circumstances? And who was she? She wasn't Hermione Potter. How could she possibly be, without any memories? 'Our memories make us who we are.' That was a quote Hermione had heard before. And she couldn't do anything else but agree.

However, she also wasn't Hermione Granger anymore. She had her memories, sure, but no longer her personality. She didn't act like herself anymore, and if she did, it felt off. It was... confusing wasn't nearly a strong enough word for it. Upsetting, bewildering, incomprehensible. Was that what a midlife crisis felt like? Hermione hoped not.

 _Okay, plan of action_. She knew she could not let herself wallow in pity anymore It was unhealthy. Also, she could hear giggling from the staircase. The other girls in her dorm had found their way back as well, and if they were anything like Parvati and Lavender, they would come to look in the mirror, touch up on their make-up and hair, and then go back to the common room before going to dinner.

Also, they would notice her crying – or almost crying – and not stop pressing her about it until they knew what was wrong. And while Hermione did appreciate the sentiment behind it, she didn't want to deal with people at the moment, especially giggly teenage girls. She took out her wand and disillusioned herself, and only hoped they wouldn't be observant enough to notice the dip in the mattress where she was sitting.

"But he's _so_ cute", one of them said.

"Okay, he's cute, alright, but Patrick is _hot_."

"And _boring._ "

Hermione rolled her eyes and tuned out their chatter. It did have the effect to snap her out of the worst of her identity crisis though, so she could at least think again. What should she do? Her instinct told her to just go with the flow, and it would balance itself out. Her mind, however, wanted her to make a list, or rather, several of them. It was what she had always done. Look at the problem as objectively as possible, consider all the angles and then choose the most sensible course of action according to that.

Hermione sighed. Now that she was paying attention, it was glaringly evident that she was basically two people in one body at the moment. Or was that three? Did the part of her that sat back and analysed count as a third 'person' or was it just a fragment of Hermione Granger?

Her dorm mates had vanished to the bathroom now, as Hermione had predicted, and she used the chance to get up and slip out of the common room and into the library. She needed to concentrate, and the library was the best place for that.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't notice she hadn't yet removed the disillusionment charm she had put on herself, or the curious glances that followed the portrait hole opening seemingly without cause.

Or the look a pair of red-headed twins shared, before quietly slipping out of the Common Room.

* * *

 **I don't really have anything to say, except that reviews are always very appreciated :)**


	10. Interlude III

**Interlude III**

* * *

"Where do you think they went?", Gideon asked in a low voice.

"Homenum Revelio", his twin's voice answered.

A light spectre was shown, hurrying down the main stairs. Other than that, the hallways were clear.

"Genius", Gideon said, before hurrying after his brother.

It took a few more castings of the spell, and they did earn a lot of curious looks, but eventually, they had tracked the person to the library. If Gideon was right, they were sitting on the chair right around the next corner, next to the Restricted Section. A chair that was, to the best of his knowledge, usually occupied by Hermione Potter.

To him, the girl was a mystery. He didn't have many memories of her first few years at Hogwarts. They had been in the same House and shared all their classes, however they had never gotten close. She had been very studious back then, and had loved flying, even though she seemed to be somewhat weary of going too high, or doing any complicated tricks.

Also, she had a temper. Back then, she would snap at the littlest of things, most times fuelled by Black. Her, Gideon did not like at all. Never had, and probably also never would. She was... unsettling. Her mere presence was enough to make you feel uncomfortable.

There was a reason he and his brother had never befriended Potter. She had been similar. While Potter didn't put you on edge so much, there was still her temper. One wrong word, and she would explode on you. And her studious nature saw to it that she knew very many hexes indeed.

Whereas Black had only gotten worse, in Gideon's opinion, Potter, on the other hand, had changed. She was becoming more and more withdrawn, especially after their second year. Her temper had all but disappeared. He could only hope it would hold, because if it didn't, he wasn't sure he and his brother would get out of this uninjured.

"What do we do now?", he whispered in Fabian's ear.

Instead of a verbal answer, he was hit with the feeling of an egg being opened on his head, and he shivered. Moments later, his twin disappeared from view as well. Oh, alright. He wasn't sure sneaking up on Hermione Potter of all people was a smart idea, but now they could at least scout the situation. Hopefully.

Carefully, Gideon peaked around the shelves, aware that if he moved too fast, his outline would be visible despite the disillusionment charm. And what he saw was, at least to him, very surprising. Potter was curled up in her usual chair, but she wasn't studying. She was breathing hard and fast, and her eyes stared unfocused ahead. She also seemed to be extremely tense, and it was clear that _something_ was wrong with her. Not that he could even begin to suspect what it was.

He wanted to step forward, to touch her, perhaps on her arm, and pull her out of whatever episode she was having, take her into his arms and never let go. Wait... what? He didn't even know the girl. Why would he...?

Silently, he took out his wand and shot a broad analysing charm into her general direction. It was one he had used often in Ancient Runes, to see if there was any ambient magic around that would interfere with the cluster he was working on. Of course, ambient magic was always around, and probably was stronger here at Hogwarts than almost anywhere else, but it shouldn't affect him.

And it didn't. He could see, in his mind's eye, the structure of the Wards, how the castle was protected, the enchantments on the bookshelves that allowed you to reach even the books that were physically unreachable, and also something else.

It was radiating from Potter's shirt, a pinkish colour, dull and yet mesmerizing. He supposed it was that which had influenced his thoughts so. Which was, in a wholly different context, damn impressive. It wasn't anything he recognized, and he didn't think it was rune-based, like most enchantments were. The Potters were known for their craftsmanship, it had been their Family business for centuries and it had made them very rich indeed, so she probably had made that shirt herself. And enchanted it. Possibly used a method that only her Family was privy to.

Not that it mattered. It had influenced his mind, his thoughts. He had wanted to go to her, comfort her. Or, possibly, 'comfort' her. He had heard the rumours of her escapades. To say it politely. To say it as it was, Potter was the known school-whore. She wore flimsy clothes, she flirted with everyone she would talk to and was not in any way more selective with her bed partners.

Gideon had never had any interest of sleeping with her himself, but then, he was still wary of her. She was, for all her spreading her legs for seemingly everybody, scary. Too withdrawn. Silent. And, in a way, almost as unnerving as Black could be, especially with her temper, that everybody seemed to have forgotten about.

The point was, he had never wanted her like that. Except now, when he suddenly, for only a moment, did. And he would bet a hundred Galleons that it had to do with that enchantment on her shirt. Was that how she had gotten everyone else to share her bed? Maybe, but then, wouldn't he have noticed before?

Oh, well. Gideon shrugged. It didn't matter. The feeling had passed anyway, and he turned towards Fabian who had come up next to him.

 _What do we do?_

His brother looked pensieve.

 _Madam Pomfrey?_ he mouthed.

Gideon shook his head. He pulled Fabian to the side, and through a few shelves before he spoke.

"I don't think she would appreciate it."

"So? She obviously isn't healthy."

"Have you forgotten what she was like in her first year?"

Fabian looked at him, seemingly lost.

"She had a temper", Gideon said. "A quick one. And contrary to what the rest of the school seems to think, I doubt she's lost that."

That had come out a little more biting than initially planned. Oh, well.

"Look at her! She's in not position to do anything. And also, we're two, she's alone."

Gideon sighed. He _did_ want to help. Only...

"Are you Gryffindor or not?", his brother asked him.

"Alright. But you go first."

Fabian rolled his eyes.

"Yes, brother mine."

Gideon knew his brother thought he was being overly dramatic. But, for all that he was Gryffindor, he was also a lot more careful than his twin. Common sense, that's what they called it.

"Hey, you okay?", Fabian said after he had approached the chair Potter was sitting on, her condition unchanged.

She didn't react.

"Potter?", he tried again.

"Hermione?", Gideon asked.

Maybe she would respond to her first name. No success, however.

"Can you hear us?"

"Leave it, Fabian. We won't accomplish anything like this."

"But I thought you didn't want to get Pomfrey?"

"I don't."

"Then what do you suggest? We can't just _leave_ her here. She's Gryffindor."

While a crappy reason, his brother was still right, Gideon thought. They couldn't just go away. Nobody ever came to this corner of the library, which was probably exactly why Potter always sat there, but that also meant it could be days before anyone found her. Okay, maybe not _days_ , they did have classes tomorrow, and the teachers would notice her missing and go looking for her, but still.

"She missed her OWLs, didn't she?", Gideon suddenly asked.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"She was in the Hospital Wing the whole time. Until after the holidays started." "

It must've been something serious", Fabian said.

"Exactly", Gideon retorted. "What if this... _condition_ she's in has something to do with that? What if not getting Madam Pomfrey will do more bad than good, no matter if she's angry with us afterwards?"

"If I seem to remember correctly, _you_ were the one against getting her for fear of Potter, and I quote, 'not appreciating it'."

"Yes, and now I remembered something that makes my argument void. Does it really matter though?"

"No, it doesn't, you're right. So, who gets Pomfrey and who stays here?"

Gideon shrugged.

"Alright", Fabian said. "I'm getting her. You're better at comforting people anyways. You know, in case she snaps out of it."

"Ah."

Fabian promptly turned around and left the library. He had completely forgotten the fact he was still disillusioned, so Gideon couldn't help but chuckle at the mental image of his brother's face once he noticed.

Gideon carefully settled down in one of the chairs next to Potter, removing _his_ disillusionment, so Fabian and Madam Pomfrey would actually _see_ him once they arrived.

The sound of Potter's breaths filled the air between them. They were shallow and came quickly, so quickly in fact that Gideon was surprised she hadn't lost consciousness from lack of oxygen yet. Not that she was at all responsive, or that he had any desire whatsoever to test it. Chances were, she would either hit him or hex him, and he would rather prefer to _not_ deal with that, thank you very much.

She was actually kind of pretty. He had never taken the time to really look at Potter, but now that he had nothing else to do, he found himself enchanted. Her hair was full and curly and a wonderful dark hazelnut colour. Her skin was pale, but not unhealthily so, her lashes were long and curved, and her lips a rosy pink. She looked innocent. Not at all like the whore she actually was.

That thought snapped Gideon out of his stupor, and he shook his head, trying to get rid of whatever was influencing him. No, not whatever. Her shirt. Looking around him to make sure nobody was in sight, Gideon took out his wand. After all, he didn't want to seem like it was _him_ causing her panic attack.

He had been caught twice already in her net. He would be damned if he allowed it to happen a third time, and the best way he saw to avoid that was to find a means to protect himself from her clothes, as stupid as that sounded. And for that, he first had to find out how that enchantment even worked.

He cast the standard analytical charm again, and got the same soft pink glow. He then followed it up with all the other ones he had learned. And came up empty-handed. How was that even possible? There were no runes stitched into the cloth, and no charms or enchantments interwoven with the fabric. No hidden numerical sequences, and no herbs or potions.

There was definitely _something_ on the shirt, but that had not been achieved through any conventional magical means. And that was a problem, because he couldn't protect himself against something that didn't even really exist in a concrete form. Well, damn.

Gideon let his wand sink and the glow faded. Potter still hadn't noticed anything, or if she did, hadn't reacted. So far, so good. However, that didn't change the fact that he was being influenced, against his will, and there was nothing he could do against it.

Except hope that he continued to catch himself before it was too late. And, most importantly, avoid being near Potter in the first place. Not that he had a choice at the moment. He _had_ to stay here until his brother got Madam Pomfrey.

 _Shouldn't they be here already?_

It wasn't _that_ far from the Library to the Hospital Wing. Gideon looked around, trying to see if maybe he just overlooked something, when he noticed something. It was quiet. _Too_ quiet. Potter's breathing, that had been going quick and shallow, had stopped. Sharply, Gideon turned around, just in time to see her pass out cold.

* * *

Dorea Potter neé Black was worried. It was Tuesday evening, and Charlus had been called away by a late Floo call. That in and of itself wasn't very worrying, the fact that the call came from Hogwarts, however, was.

The school had only called twice before. The first time at the end of Hermione's first year, when she had been hexed so badly by the eldest Black daughter she had to spend a week in the Hospital Wing. The second time had only been a few months ago.

Once again she was in the Hospital Wing because of a Daughter of the House of Black, only this time, the second oldest, who had not hurt but saved her. A little cynically, she couldn't help but wonder if it was now the youngest one's turn.

Silently, Dorea moved closer to the door. Her husband probably didn't want her to hear whatever (probably) Professor McGonagall had to say, wanted to protect her from the harsh reality of whatever had happened, but Dorea didn't care. Hermione was _their_ daughter, not just his, and she was a Black. She could handle it.

"Should we come visit?", she heard Charlus ask.

He hadn't put up any privacy charms, which made Dorea's lips twitch. Apparently, he _did_ want her to listen in and was just too proud to say so. _Gryffindors_ , Dorea thought fondly, of a little exasperated. They could learn subtlety, all right, but the elegance of the execution would be forever lacking.

 _Not to mention that a_ real _Gryffindor would have just come out and said it_ , Dorea thought. Unfortunately, more often than not, their pride and courage were at odds, with pride winning in the end.

"I don't think that will be necessary", a clipped Scottish voice replied to Charlus's question. "Healer Winters has been notified already, and is running diagnostics."

"But was it...?", Charlus trailed off.

Dorea knew what he had wanted to ask. _Was it another suicide attempt?_

"It certainly does not seem like it", Professor McGonagall replied.

A weight that she hadn't even realized was there fell from Dorea's chest at hearing those words. Only now she could admit to herself how much of her worry had been based around that.

"Good", her husband said.

"Were there any questions you still had?", the Head of Gryffindor asked.

"No, I don't think so. Thank you for notifying us, Professor."

"Have a good night, Lord Potter."

"You too", Charlus said.

Then, the room fell quiet again. Carefully, Dorea opened to door to the living room and stepped inside.

"I take it you listened in?", Charlus asked after she had sat down on an armchair next to him.

"I take it you wanted me to?", Dorea replied lightly.

Her husband sighed.

"I just don't know what to do", he said helplessly.

"Why don't you start by explaining the issue you're having? I didn't hear everything, you know."

Charlus didn't respond for a long time, several minutes at least, and Dorea didn't think he still would, when he finally did speak.

"I... I worry about her. She's obviously not alright, and I have no idea what I can do to help her. I don't even understand what's wrong, really. She never seemed particularly unhappy before, and suddenly, she tries to take her life. They didn't even _tell_ us until she was awake and ready to come home with us. She says she doesn't remember, but I don't know if I can believe that. On the other hand, she's never lied to me. Except, she apparently has, all the time. I should have noticed something!

"But then... she already has so much leeway. We held off on teaching her more than the basics of etiquette, because _she_ argued she wouldn't need it, with James being the Heir and all. We let her keep her sewing hobby, let her wear clothes that are _completely inappropriate_ in any setting, not to even mention a _school_ , because we wanted her to be happy. We indulged her interest for Muggles, even let her take Muggle Studies, although it is widely known that the teacher and curriculum are decidedly substandard.

"What have we done to drive her to that point? I just don't understand...", he trailed off helplessly.

Dorea could feel her heart bleeding as she listened to her husband voice the very thoughts that had plagued her for the last three months. She _had_ noticed that Hermione didn't seem to have many friends at school, if any at all, but her daughter had never seemed especially bothered by it, and had made her disinterest at talking to her very clear. She had thought that maybe it just was puberty, and didn't want to pry. Her daughter had always been independent and a little rebellious, the fiery combination of the Potter and Black genes.

Now that Dorea thought about it, Hermione's energy seemed to have calmed a lot in the last few years. Originally, she had put it down to her daughter becoming more mature, but she couldn't help but wonder if maybe it had been an indication of something deeper, some kind of depression she had expertly hidden from everyone.

"I don't understand either", Dorea said sadly, placing a hand on Charlus's arm.

"What exactly happened?", she then asked. "I only heard the last bit, about it not being necessary that we visit."

"Oh, well. Apparently, she was found in the library by the Prewett twins, having some sort of panic attack. She wasn't responding, and breathing way too quickly before she passed out. Officially, it's Magical Exhaustion", he added.

 _Hm..._

"Do you think it's stress?", Dorea asked.

"How do you mean?"

"She's only taken her OWLs a week ago. She studied the whole holidays, and now she's in classes again. _Six_ classes, even though the recommended maximum is five. Maybe she just needs a break."

"You think that's it? She decided to throw her life away because 'she needed a break'?"

"That's not what I said", Dorea replied firmly. "And also not what I meant. I have no clue what could have driven her to the point of not wanting to live anymore. We both know she's been working even harder than usual this past year, however. And unlike everyone else, she hasn't gotten any rest between the school years. OWLs are hard, and NEWT-level classes even more so. You know she has high expectations of herself. Is it really that unimaginable that maybe, just maybe, it's too much, even for her?"

"Of course not, I'm sorry", Charlus said.

 _It's not me you need to apologize to_ , Dorea thought, but she didn't say anything. Her daughter wasn't the only one under pressure.

"You do realize it's only going to get worse for her, right?", Charlus asked. "Her birthday is in two weeks. She'll be an adult then, with all the duties that encompasses. She's a Daughter of the House of Potter, and no matter how much we have let her shirk her duties over the last years, once she's no longer a minor, that won't be possible anymore. Until she is married, and even after that to a certain extent, her actions reflect directly on the House of Potter."

"I know, dear", Dorea said. "Still, do you think we could hold off on the coming-of-age ball until summer?"

"I had contemplated doing that either way, actually", Charlus said. "She's one of the first in her year to turn seventeen, so she does have a little more time. Also, Christmas Holidays are always a bad time for such things. Too many other balls already."

Dorea tilted her head in an almost imperceptible nod. Her thoughts exactly.

"She _will_ have to be married by twenty-one, however", Charlus added.

"To someone of her choosing. No political match-making", Dorea warned.

"I already made that promise before _we_ got married, dear", Charlus said. "And I would never go back on my word on something like this."

"Good."

As much as she appreciated her husband's political aspirations and ambitions – and not only because it had allowed her to not be disowned for marrying a Gryffindor – she didn't want those to get in the way of her children's happiness.

Witnessing the drama around her sister Cassiopeia refusing marriage outright, she knew better than to force her children in a similar situation. How Cassie had managed to not get disowned was still a small miracle, though Dorea suspected it had involved a lot of convincing blackmail.

Well, luckily, it wasn't her problem.

"Do you think we should write her, remind her of her duties?"

Dorea sighed.

"I don't know, dear. On one hand, it would only add more stress on top of everything. On the other hand, she might need the reminder. And it's certainly better than having her freak out because her birthday present is accompanied by a letter full of things she has to do that she doesn't care about."

"That would ruin the day for her, and she'd probably resent us for it."

"She would", Dorea agreed. "But still. I think we should make it clear that we love her. I don't want her to take it the wrong way, and... you know."

There they were, dancing around reality once more.

"I know", Charlus said. "Do you think we should have sent Tildy with her after all?"

"Healer Winters said the first 72 hours would be appropriate. Not the first 72 days, which is much closer to what we actually did, and certainly not the first 72 weeks", Dorea said firmly.

"Still, I worry."

"So do I, dear, so do I."

But there wasn't really anything they could do about that. And, after all, it was only natural for parents to worry about their children, Dorea supposed. Because that was what family did. _Toujours pur_ , she thought. _Family first, always and forever._

* * *

 **As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. And I promise this is plot-relevant, and not just filler. Even though Bella isn't in it.**


	11. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

* * *

Hermione blinked slowly. Wherever she was, there were soft lights around her, glowing in all colours of the spectrum. Further assessment of her situation revealed she was once again in the Hospital Wing. It must have been night already for the lights to be out.

Diagnostic charms were running beside her, and there were quiet voices to be heard in Madam Pomfrey's office. How long had she been here? And how did she even get here in the first place? The last thing she could remember was being in library and just too overwhelmed with everything that was going on, practically _feeling_ Hermione Potter and Hermione Granger battling inside of her.

Speaking of, who was she? The mysterious third party that seemed to have taken residence, analysing everything, apparently.

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by the door to the matron's office opening.

"Alright, I think those charms should be done by now."

"Will they be able to tell us more?"

"I certainly hope so."

The voice seemed vaguely familiar, but only when Hermione saw her did her brain put the pieces together. It was Healer Winters, the one who had helped getting her back to health the last time she was here. The one she had wondered about why she was even treating her in the first place. But now was not the time.

The two witches were approaching, and Hermione thought it prudent to close her eyes again.

"Hmm...", Healer Winters hummed.

"I have to admit, most of the things on here don't tell me a whole lot", Madam Pomfrey said.

"Don't worry, they wouldn't", Healer Winters assured her. "This is a spell I have designed myself, for my Master's degree, and it is almost never used."

"Why not? I imagine it would be good to have all this additional information you seem to be getting from it."

Healer Winters chuckled.

"True. However, it does take a rather long time to finish its calculations. No patient, or at least not most, would be willing to just sit there for several hours, waiting to be diagnosed."

And sometimes, time was of essence. Hermione knew that after having lived through a war. Most of the injuries she had encountered would have to be treated immediately, at least to some extent. People simply didn't have the _time_ to have a test like that run on them. They would probably die halfway through, if not sooner.

Silence fell once again, as Healer Winters was – presumably – examining the spell's results, and Madam Pomfrey stood quietly by her side. Hermione didn't know how long it took, but suddenly, her left arm was gently lifted from below her duvet.

A sliver of panic hit her. That was her scarred arm, the one nobody could ever see! If they did, everything around her would fall apart.

"Her heart-rate's gone up", Madam Pomfrey said.

Healer Winters, who was presumable the one holding her arm, stilled her movements.

After a short pause she said: "Everything seems to be in order otherwise."

"Alright. I'll tell you if anything else changes."

"Thank you."

Then, Hermione's arm was turned. Unconsciously, she tensed. If the Healer made any move to roll up her sleeve, Hermione would be ready to strike. She would have to be. No one could know. _Ever_.

A gentle hand touched her wrist, and then her sleeve. Hermione took a deep breath, and waited. Then, the sleeve was pushed up. There was no doubt about what would happen next. So she did the only thing she could. She sat up abruptly, snatching back her arm, and glaring at both of them.

"What are you doing?", she hissed.

Healer Winters held up her hands defensively.

"No need to panic. I was only trying to verify something."

Oh, really.

"What?"

"Well, you see. My readings have shown that the two magical signatures inside of you have parted again, even though they had wholly merged the last time I saw you. And I traced back the cause to something, that is anchored in one of the signatures, the 'new one', if you want to call it that, that has not fully transferred to the other, 'old', one."

And that _something_ obviously was her scar. As the realization hit her, Hermione covered her mouth to not let out the gasp. _That's_ how the knife had been cursed. And why nothing could heal the letters carved into her skin. They were not only part of her body, but of her magic. Her _self_. This word, marking her as worthless, had been ingrained into her very being, and just like she couldn't change her eye or hair colour, at least not permanently, she couldn't remove the scar.

Only that it was _worse_. She couldn't cover it up with magic. She _could_ with muggle means, but makeup just didn't cut it. It wasn't like a tattoo that left one's skin smooth. The letters had been carved into her skin, and that resulted in an impossible to hide texture. And it was the reason this one scar, unlike all the others she had gotten during the war, had reappeared.

And Hermione Potter wasn't a mudblood. She was as pure as they come, both the Potter and Black lines could be traced back for _centuries_. So of course, who she had been wouldn't just accept something like that as who she was. Because she _wasn't._ She _couldn't_ be, it was physically impossible. Only now, she was. That was what had messed her recovery, the 'merge', whatever you wanted to call it, up.

"And?", Hermione prompted.

" _And_ , I could trace this something back to your arm. So, I wanted to take a look."

"No."

"Why not? I assure you that my Healer's Oath does indeed enforce confidentiality. This thing is what caused you to be back here. And I'm sure that I am more knowledgeable in Hereditary Magic than you are. After all, it is my field of expertise."

And considering that in all her reading and research over the years, Hermione had never even heard of it, she was inclined to agree. What raised one very important question: What was Hereditary Magic? And what did it have to do with her time/dimension travel?

"I know what it is. But I can't show you."

"That's the only way for me to find out anything more, and possibly help you. Until I know the underlying causes, there is nothing I can do to work with you to prevent something like this from happening again."

And the questions wouldn't go away. Hermione realized that much. Still...

"How much can you reveal without your Healer's Oath stopping you?", she asked.

"To the average citizen?", Healer Winters said. "Nothing. If it's a colleague inquiring, no. If it's something that could be a danger to either yourself or the people around you, we can't tell details, but enough to keep everyone safe."

"What do you mean?", Hermione asked.

She had a bad feeling about this.

"It means that if, for example, you have a highly contagious illness, I will have to at least tell the Headmaster, so that you can either be taken to St. Mungo's or adequate measures can be taken here at school", Madam Pomfrey said.

 _Not good._ She was, for all intents and purposes, from the future. And it wasn't like she hadn't worried before about what would happen if she was found out, usually in bed shortly before she fell asleep. Or not, as the thoughts running through her head, the scenarios that became worse and worse kept her awake.

Best case scenario, she would be pumped for all the information she had and then obliviated to keep their enemies from finding out. One of the worse cases would be to be locked up and poked at in the Ministry – Department of Mysteries, most likely – to find out how her 'travel' had even been possible in the first place.

"What if I refuse?", Hermione asked them.

"Then I will let it lie for now. However, as I said, these panic attacks will only stop once you recognize and resolve the underlying issue. And I don't want to talk down your abilities, but I don't think you will be able to do that without external help."

What a nice way to say that she was mental. Oh, wait. _Not._

"So basically, I'm crazy and if I even want to be successful in pretending I'm not I'll have to talk to you?"

"It doesn't have to be me. It could be Madam Pomfrey. Or any other Healer that you trust. I am just the one that will most likely have to be involved with the magical aspect of things."

Great. She didn't _know_ any Healers except those two. And even then, 'know' was a rather loose description.

"No thanks."

"Alright then", Healer Winters said. "I can't force you. I _will_ have to have a closer look at whatever is causing the problems in your Merge, however. It would probably be best for you to sleep now, and maybe you'll have thought things over until tomorrow."

Hermione scowled at them, and after they retired to Madam Pomfrey's office, the soft glow of the diagnostic spell went out and Hermione was left in complete darkness. She could hear her heart beating, and her shallow breathing.

That had been _way_ too close for comfort. But nonetheless, she needed to relax. And she needed to trust that her secret would stay hidden throughout the night, that neither Healer Winters nor Madam Pomfrey would go behind her back in that way. Common sense said she could, but her experiences had made her weary.

She had always trusted in authority. Up until the point when suddenly she found she didn't anymore. However, except breaking out of the Hospital Wind and unnecessarily risking her health, there was nothing Hermione could to. So she forced her heartbeat to slow, her breathing to deepen and her body to relax, succumbing to sleep.

* * *

The next day saw Hermione still in the Hospital Wing, and when she was released on Thursday morning, she threw herself back into her studies. She had missed Potions, Arithmancy and Runes on Wednesday, and had to catch up on that, next to her other research.

Unfortunately, she didn't get anything substantial done before Defence. She had been to breakfast, and then back in her dorm, and then in the library, but her concentration just wasn't there. Hermione didn't know if it was because of her panic attack, the near miss of a second one, or the prospect of being in a class with Bellatrix Black again. Maybe it was a combination of all three.

Ultimately, Hermione was glad when it was time to go to class. Hopefully, it would distract her, and she'd be forced to do something else than just sit around uselessly and mentally berating herself for it. The first thing Hermione noticed when she entered the classroom was that once again, the chairs and desks were lining the walls, and the runic circle Professor Mercer had drawn last time was still mostly there.

As usual, Hermione was the first one there, so she put down her bag and then moved on to inspect the circle. She hadn't had the chance to do so last time, and she was curious. There wasn't much about it in the library that she hadn't read before, not even in the Restricted Section. There was a bit more about runic casting, books that either wouldn't be there anymore in a few decades, or that she had just not bothered to read before.

There wasn't much on the actual practice, only that it was heavily restricted, of not outright banned – which Hermione had already known – and they didn't even give an outright reason. From what Hermione could read between the lines though, it was because of the danger it posed, not just to the people around the one casting, but also the caster themselves.

Runic circles, however, didn't have the same risks, as the energy was grounded more, but they could still very easily explode in your face if you made a mistake. The fact that Professor Mercer was using them in class must mean she was indeed very good at runes.

Hermione wondered where she had learned that, and if she maybe would teach her? But no, probably not. You needed a license for that, and chances were, Professor Mercer didn't have one. If she did, why would she be at Hogwarts as the DADA instructor? On the other hand, maybe she did, considering she was all but advertising her skills to anybody who cared to look.

Going around the circle, Hermione couldn't help but be impressed at the accuracy of the runes drawn. They seemed to be perfectly balanced in length and width, as well as spacing, and the general arrangement in a perfectly round circle. If Hermione had wanted to do something like that, she would have double checked everything, and made corrections along the way, before checking again.

Professor Mercer, not so much. She had drawn the circle quickly, almost sketching it. Loosely. Like she had done it countless times before, and could do it in her sleep. As it had happened, Hermione hadn't known enough to truly appreciate the genius behind it, but now... It wasn't even just one language. It was at least five, of which Hermione recognized only three, maybe four, and even with those, she wasn't absolutely sure. It was, just, wow!

She had always thought of herself well educated, and very knowledgeable. She had been called the Brightest Witch of her Age, and she was sure she had deserved the title. However, she was twenty-two years old. Professor Mercer didn't seem to be much older, despite her authoritative presence in class.

"Has the circle captured your interest?", a voice suddenly asked from behind Hermione, and she almost jumped out of her skin.

 _Be aware of your surroundings, Hermione!_ , she scolded herself almost immediately.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you", Professor Mercer said.

"It's alright", Hermione replied. "And yes. I find it fascinating."

The Professor gave her a small smile.

"I doubt many others have recognized it for what it is", she said.

"Well, the others are stupid then. Not that I'd have expected anything else", a derisive voice spoke from behind Hermione.

This time, she let no reaction show, even though her insides curled with fear. She knew that voice.

"Is that so, Miss Black?", Professor Mercer answered.

There was a playfulness in her voice that Hermione had no idea what to do with. Luckily, others were slowly starting to enter the classroom, after all class would begin in a few minutes, and Hermione could just go back to where she had dropped her stuff and lean against one of the desks.

Nobody was talking to her, as she had become accustomed to in the last few days, but she could feel someone watching her. She didn't know who it was, and she was too afraid to turn her head and find out.

"Alright, let's begin", Professor Mercer said, the moment the bell rang. "I have looked over my notes of your duels last time, and I've made four groups. In every group, there will be people that ranked at the very top, in the middle, and at the bottom. I expect those of you who have already mastered a spell to help the ones in your group that haven't yet.

"Your group will be your team. Over the course of this school year, this class will be a sort of tournament. There will be a tally kept that has nothing to do with house points, and everything to do with team points. There are things that will help you gain points, like working together, and things that will lose you points, like ignoring when someone in your teams needs help.

"Every month, there will also be a duelling round. It will be in teams, sometimes, and sometimes in smaller groups or one on one. For each duel, you have to put forward some of your points. Depending on how well you performed in the preceding duels, and how proficient you are at the spells allowed, you will get a factor that the points you put forward will be multiplied with if you win.

"Each duel will have individual rules and restrictions, and failure to abide by them will automatically lose you the round. I will hand out a piece of parchment for everyone with the rules, and how everything works in more detail. If you have any questions, please feel free to come to me. Understood?"

A collective not and murmurs of 'yes' went through the class. Hermione was impressed. This was a lot more – and a lot more complicated – than she had expected. And still, it would do a lot of good. People would be forced to work together, and there would be regular duels. Which was a good thing, because being able to cast a spell in a classroom with all the time in the world, or under duress while facing an opponent, having to shield and dodge and attack at the same time, were very different things. Hermione should know, she had earned that knowledge the hard way.

A red-headed boy next to her handed her a small pile of parchment.

"Thanks", she smiled softly, took the one at the top and handed it off to the girl next to her.

She was a Ravenclaw, Hermione noticed. Then, she looked at what was actually written, and she almost choked. Her 'team' of sorts was probably the worst one she could have gotten. They were fourteen people in Defence overall, and there were four teams, two with three and two with four people. She was in one with four people, and in the only team where there was one member of each house.

There was Paul Stewart from Hufflepuff, who had ranked bottom, then Gawain Robarts from Ravenclaw and herself had ranked in the middle, and to top things off, Bellatrix Black from Slytherin. _Great!_

On one hand, Hermione supposed she should be glad she wouldn't have to duel Bellatrix after all, there was nothing about inter-team duels anywhere, but on the other hand... They would have to work together. She would have to take tips from Bellatrix, or even orders. And she _really_ didn't know of she could do that. Maybe if she made an effort, but how long could she keep that up? Convincingly?

She knew that, if she had wanted, she could have ranked at the top. She had made a conscious decision not to, but now, it looked like it would have been better that way. Someone else in the other teams would have been ranked down in comparison to her, and she could have taken their spot, forcibly being on a different team than Bellatrix.

Oh well, what's done was done. She would have to remain calm. She just recovered from a panic attack, she couldn't afford another one so soon after. Or ever.

Professor Mercer got Hermione's attention again by clapping her hands.

"Good. Any immediate questions?"

"Can we change teams?", someone asked.

"No. Anything else?"

So much for that then. Hermione hadn't even considered it yet, but obviously that option was out anyway.

"Alright, then we're going to start with the first spell. You will notice that the circle I drew last time is still there. It will serve our purposes today. Before you can cast anything, you first need to get a feel for your magic. Those of you who have Runes will have imbued them with power before. For those of you who haven't, it's basically directing raw power into the rune to charge it, and the rune converts the energy into the form it needs."

Looking around, Professor Mercer noticed a raised hand and gestured towards the boy holding it up.

"Yes, Mr...?"

"Robarts. I was wondering if those who have runes will always have an advantage in your class?"

He didn't sound too pleased by the thought, and Hermione supposed she could understand. Sort of. She _did_ have Runes, after all, and would consider herself more knowledgeable about them than the average sixteen-year-old.

"No, Mr Robarts, that won't always be the case. In the beginning, however, it is important to get a feel for the flow of your magic, and I learned it with runes, so that's the way I'm teaching you. If you would like to suggest another method, however, and are proficient enough at it to teach it, then you're very welcome to do so in your free time."

"Understood", Robarts said courtly.

Hermione glanced down on her parchment to double-check, but she had been right. This Mr Robarts was one of her teammates, the one from Ravenclaw. Gawain Robarts. His name seemed familiar, somehow.

"Then let's continue. Before you start flinging spells around, I believe it is very important to know yourself, and to know the feel of your magic. How fast it rises, how fast it flows, and what emotions it responds most to. That will allow you more control and precision in your spellwork, as you won't waste any power that you otherwise might have.

"Runes are perfect for this exercise for two reasons. One, to be charged they need raw magic, only directed through our wands, without it being shaped to perform a certain task. And two, if you overpower it, the rune will simply disintegrate. Now, be careful though. If working with a circle or similar, all the runes are connected to each other, so if the whole circle is overpowered and all runes disintegrate simultaneously, there will be a big explosion, and that's dangerous.

"I have taken care to disconnect all of the runes that are drawn here. The only reason we are still using the circle is basically because I didn't have the time to draw that many runes for this lesson, that are going to be destroyed anyway."

Considering the speed at which she had set the circle up in their last lesson, Hermione rather doubted that. And judging from a stifled snort at her back, she wasn't the only one who thought so.

"So, your task for today is to pick a rune you like, for whatever reason, and try to imbue it with your magic. There is no incantation, as the magic isn't formed. Just try to feel the power flowing through your veins, and into your wand. Remember what it felt like when you first connected with it, and maybe remember the sparks that came out of it. How many there were, how bright they were, which colour they had. All these things can help you find your magic.

"And don't be discouraged if you don't manage it right away. Those that have Runes, and have done this before, might be able to assist you, and I'm also there if you have any questions."

Okay, wow. Hermione knew how to power runes, thank you very much. But it had taken her a _long_ time to get that hang of it, much reading, and meditation, and personal instruction from Professor Babbling. They had started in Third Year, and only a few months before OWLs had anyone managed to successfully power anything.

For Professor Mercer to expect them to learn this, in such a short amount of time, was insanity. Besides, wouldn't it be wasted time for those who already knew the technique? Never mind. She was still their teacher, and if she thought it would do anything but frustrate those who couldn't do it and bore those who could, who was she to protest? It would only gain her unwanted attention anyway, and the rest of the lesson plan did seem to be reasonable, so... It would be alright, Hermione supposed.

* * *

"Hermione?", someone called out to her.

Turning around, she saw Gawain Robarts, trying to catch up with her.

"Yes?"

What did he want?

"I was wondering... you know, you're in Runes, so, you know how this whole feeling your magic thing works."

Oh. _Wait_... was that a genuine call for help, or a Ravenclaw's attempt at getting her alone to sleep with her? Because that wasn't something she felt up to at the moment. Even though... he did look good, and maybe it would help her forget.

"Yes?", she asked again.

She wanted him to clearly state what he wanted. It wouldn't do to misread the situation, and embarrass herself.

"Could you teach me?" Hermione shrugged.

"I can try. I don't know if I'm any good at teaching, though."

Didn't he have any friends that were in Runes?

"I'd appreciate you trying", he said smiling.

"So, when are you free?", Hermione asked.

"Friday morning would probably be best. I don't have Herbology, or Astronomy."

"Me neither", Hermione replied.

She _did_ have to patrol Thursdays from 12am to 2am though. _Today_ from 12 to 2, she realized with a start.

"Can we still start at ten, or later? I have rounds until two on Thursdays."

"Of course", Gawain smiled. "Meet in front of the library, tomorrow at ten?"

"Alright", Hermione said.

Then, she turned and went back to Gryffindor Tower. Originally, she had planned to go to the library, but seeing how unproductive she had been that morning, she resolved to try something different to get her thoughts back in order. It was moments like this when she missed Crookshanks.

He had stayed at the Burrow after the war, because Ron still didn't like him, and Hermione hadn't fought him on that. She knew that her cat would be happier there than in a small flat. He had always comforted her, however, and brought her a piece of mind that nothing else could have accomplished. She could get a new cat, she supposed, but it wouldn't be the same.

When she entered the Gryffindor Common Room, it was louder than she had expected with most people, especially the younger ones still in class. At fault were very obviously the Prewett twins, and their sister Molly. Molly soon-to-be Weasley, who was very loudly arguing with them, her (probably) boyfriend Arthur beside her, trying to calm her down, and the twins not paying them any attention at all, and rather continuing to make fun of two of their housemates.

Whom Hermione, after having to take a second look, were her fellow Prefect, something Johnson, and one of her dorm mates. At least she thought the girl was in her year, she hadn't really paid any attention to anyone around her, too busy trying to sort out her own life. What made recognizing them even harder was the fact that everything about them seemed to have been switched. Not only their clothes, but also their hair, and even their skin tone.

It _did_ look interesting, Hermione had to admit, and the genius it would take to turn such an idea into reality was astounding. And very impressive indeed. Maybe she would have to seek the twins out sooner or later, and pick their brains a little. If she managed to ignore the fact they were technically corpses in her mind, that is.

"Impressed?", a voice asked from behind her.

Without missing a beat, Hermione whirled around, her wand drawn and a spell on her lips, before she reminded herself that there was no danger. Instead, there was a boy looking down on her, and a rather handsome one. Oh well, if that wasn't the distraction she had been waiting for.

 _Wait. What?,_ a small part of her brain supplied, but she ignored it. She needed this, she needed to forget and just feel good for a moment. She wouldn't let stupid Hermione Granger's conscience take that from her. So, instead of distancing herself, she took a step closer to whomever it was she was talking to – probably a seventh year – and quirked her lips up in a smile.

"What's it to you?", she asked playfully.

He sighed dramatically.

"You wound me! Have I not been seen with the Prewett twins, and accused of helping them often enough for the assumption of my involvement to become silent fact?"

Hermione laughed.

"Careful, there! You wouldn't want to give up your plausible deniability."

"True", the boy said, and stepped forward, close enough that their noses were touching.

"Care to make sure you have an alibi?", Hermione whispered, her lips brushing over his.

"Let's go", he said, took her hand and led her out of the Common Room. Squeezing through the portrait hole was slightly uncomfortable, as he still didn't let go of her hand, but they managed, and soon it was Hermione leading the way, through several secret passages into an abandoned classroom.

Only then did she take out her wand, and thoroughly ward the room. The spells came over her lips almost automatically, and she was reminded, only for a moment, of being on the run, moving the tent every so often, and always casting the same sequence of spells, their purpose to keep them from being discovered, and then tortured or killed.

As soon as the thought came to her, however, Hermione forcefully pushed it away. Now was neither the time nor place for this. She wanted to forget. When she turned around, her companion, whom she _still_ didn't know the name of, smirked at her.

"Ready?", he asked.

"Almost", Hermione replied coyly.

Then, she conjured a bed. It was inspired by the ones in the Gryffindor dormitories, with four posts and curtains all around. It was about twice as wide, however, and the sheets were red silk instead of white cotton.

"I like", the boy said.

She would call him Bob in her mind, she decided.

"I'm glad", Hermione answered.

Then, she stepped forward again and let her lips be caught in between Bob's. It felt... average, she supposed. His mouth was soft, his tongue was wet, and there was a slight stubble on his chin that scratched her, only a little bit, but enough to keep her from being lost in the other sensations. Still, she opened her mouth to him, let his tongue into her mouth, swirling around with her own.

She let him dominate and pushed herself closer. She needed more. Her hand fisted his short brown hair, one staying on his neck, the other trailing down to his chest. He groaned into her mouth, and the sound vibrated through her whole body. His right hand found the small of her back and pressed her even closer, if that was possible, and his left wandered upwards, teasing the hem of her shirt and slipping under it.

Feeling his slightly calloused fingers trace her skin gave her goosebumps. It was soft and tender, and Hermione could feel herself falling. Finally letting go. When his hand reached her right breast and his thumb swiped over her nipple, only her bra preventing direct skin contact, she couldn't hold back a small moan. It felt good. _Really_ good.

Hermione shrugged off her robes, and then helped Bob get rid of her shirt, so she could press against him again. His clothes weren't as soft as his skin, though, and she longed for that softness, so she pushed his robes off him and lifted his shirt over his head. He did have a bit of chest hair, and some of his pubic hair trailed up to his bellybutton. It contrasted with the rest of his torso, and Hermione wasn't sure she really liked it, but that didn't really matter.

Her bra snapped open, and cold air hit her breasts that made her nipples go hard. She didn't like the cold. So she pushed Bob backwards, until they fell on the bed. The sheets were soft and warm, exactly what Hermione had wanted them to be. Bob flipped them around, so that Hermione was lying below him. He smiled down on her and grinned.

"Ready?", he asked again.

"Yes", Hermione answered breathily.

She _needed_ this.

"Then let's get rid of those, right?", he said, gesturing to their remaining clothes.

He didn't wait for a reply, and proceeded to pull off his shoes and socks, then unbuckling his belt. Hermione followed his example, and was left sitting on the bed with only her panties on. She knew she had to take those off as well, but for some reason, she hesitated. It didn't seem to matter that much to Bob, however.

He was completely naked, and very hard, as Hermione confirmed with a glance. He seemed to have caught her looking, why else would he flash a playful grin at her before moving forward and capturing her lips in a kiss again?

Hermione once again gave her best to become lost in the sensations, but for some reason, it just didn't work. He was lying on top of her, she could feel his erection pressing against her body, their breaths intermingled, and his weight was pushing her into the mattress.

But something was off. She didn't feel safe anymore, floating and free. She felt restricted, suffocated by his presence. His body seemed to trap her under him, his kiss becoming harder, threatening.

Hermione forced her eyes to open, and snap out of whatever it was, but to no success. Bob's brown hair seemed to have attained a reddish tinge, his movements an edge of forcefulness that hadn't been there before. He was rubbing up and down on her body, and when he moaned into her mouth and started moving down towards her neck, sucking at her pulse point, Hermione knew she had to get out of there.

Memories of _his_ actions just shortly before she had landed in this new life started to overlap with the present, and the analytical part of her brain, that was just watching from the outside, completely emotionally detached, told her that it wouldn't be long until Bob noticed something was wrong, or worse, she herself lashed out.

"Stop", she said quietly, not really believing it would have any effect.

It didn't before, after all. Against all her expectations, however, he did stop. He looked up at her, concerned, and rolled off her.

"What is it?", he asked.

"I-", Hermione said.

 _I can't explain_. She never would be able to.

"I don't know. Sorry. I didn't mean to...", she said instead. "You can continue."

Well, if that didn't sound unromantic. But whatever.

"If you're sure", Bob said.

"I am", Hermione answered.

And then, he was back on top of her, his mouth on her breast this time, his fingers teasing her pussy through her panties. He gently eased them down her thighs, and pulled them off completely. When he aligned himself with her entrance, Hermione could fell herself growing stiff.

 _Relax_ , she told herself. _You want this, you_ need _this. You know you do. So don't screw it up._

She didn't think Bob had noticed anything. He was lost in his own world, of lust and getting off, she imagined. And then, without any prior warning whatsoever, he grunted and thrust into her.

" _No!_ ", Hermione shouted in immediate reaction.

Mentally, she was back in the future, her old life, that last night she had lived that had led her to wanting to take her life. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and she pushed the body off of her. She wouldn't let this happen to her again! She would not be a victim anymore. Never again!

Bob landed on the floor, hard, and obviously displeased.

"What the fuck?", he shouted. "What's going on with you?!"

Shaking, Hermione sat on the bed, trying to get her wits back together.

"I won't let you", she whispered. "Never again."

Then, she wandlessly summoned her wand and conjured herself some clothes. Then, she cleaned herself up, and fixed her hair. Bob, on the floor, was completely stunned. Hermione got up from the bed and vanished it. Then, she exited the classroom and let the door slam behind her, loudly.

Automatically, her feet carried her to the library. Halfway there, however, she remembered lunch. She had to go. And _damn_ , Bob also had to go. He had to have friends who would wonder where he was, and what had happened. And then, he would tell them what had transpired between them. Raising questions she didn't want to answer.

So, she had to face him again. Now. She had to go back, and take care of his memories, as much as she disliked the thought of doing that after it had gone so pear-shaped with her parents. She bumped into him on the way up to their classroom. He was walking a little funnily, and Hermione realized he must have been hurt when she pushed him.

Suddenly, she felt bad for him. He had done nothing, not really, and she had overreacted, so much that he had gotten physically hurt. And she couldn't even heal it for him. She knew a few healing spells, but she didn't even know what was wrong with him, so if she just hit him with something, she would probably only make it worse.

"What do you want?", he snapped at her.

Completely deserved, Hermione thought.

"I'm sorry", she said softly.

Then, she raised her wand and pointed it directly at him.

"Obliviate."

* * *

 **Well, that last scene was awkward to write, but I hope I didn't completely screw it up. It was unfortunately necessary.**

 **Please consider reviewing, it does make me extremely happy :)**


	12. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

* * *

Lunch was quiet, and while Hermione was battling the guilt she felt at her actions, she managed to distract herself enough with the revision of their Charms material that she wasn't consumed by it. Still, she was very drawn into herself during both Charms and Arithmancy, and only absently noted what was being talked about.

Nobody noticed anything amiss, at least she didn't think so, and only Bellatrix bumping into her from behind made her snap out of her sort of trance. The other witch had hissed at her harshly, acting as if it was Hermione's fault, when it very clearly wasn't, that in retaliation she sent back a heated glare without thinking, before storming off.

How come Bellatrix was in Arithmancy anyway? She already was in Potions, Transfiguration, Runes, Defence and Charms with her. Five subjects were the maximum you were recommended to take, and Hermione was already something of an anomaly with six. Could she really be that unlucky to have the one person she wanted to avoid at all costs share all her _six_ classes?

Apparently yes.

Dinner was good. And, Hermione realized with a start, she had patrol this night. And the only reason she had remembered was because she had heard someone complain about their own times from somewhere behind her. She really had to stay on top of her game more. How could she fathom to prevent a war, or at least end it as soon as possible, when she couldn't even remember her own duties at school?

She would have to get up early tomorrow, so she could try and get her thoughts into some sort of order before meeting Robarts in the library. The time between dinner and her patrol at midnight was spent in the library, looking up past NEWT scores and making a mental list of how many people in the last few hundred years, ever since the recent education system was implemented, had completed their education with more than five NEWTs, in which subjects and with which grades.

There were surprisingly many that took more than five, and even up to seventeen NEWTs, some in subjects like Alchemy or Dark Arts that weren't even offered anymore. Also, it was notable that the names she read were pretty much always the same ones. They all were part of the so-called Sacred Twenty Eight, the families that had founded the Wizengamot.

Come to think of it, why weren't the Potters part of them? They certainly had a considerable amount of money and political influence, judging from both the fact that her father Charlus Potter had made politics his life's occupation, and that Lord Black had wanted to Formalize the debt she owed Andromeda. Research had shown that something like that was usually not done. The reasons were once again not as easy to find out about.

 _Still, looking into the Potter family history might prove worthwhile_ , Hermione thought to herself. _I have a feeling that, once I'm out of school, I'll need that kind of knowledge. And even if I don't, it'll still be good to know._

Also, she should probably look into getting some kind of notebook on her next Hogsmeade visit., maybe even several. She didn't like her extracurricular study notes just flying around on loose parchment sheets. It messed up her order, and made it way too easy for something to get lost. On second thought, wasn't there an owl order service offered for most of the shops? Hopefully it had already been implemented, because she really didn't want to wait a few weeks to make her purchase.

At half past nine, the library closed, so Hermione had to leave and go back to Gryffindor Tower. The common room was filled with people, and the noise level was way too high in Hermione's opinion, so she retreated to her dorm right away. Up there, she was alone, and put all her stuff away before settling down on her bed and becoming absorbed in one of her books once again.

It actually wasn't an academic one like usual, but a fictional story about a wizard going out to explore the world and getting to know all kinds of magical creatures. It had been written for children, but nonetheless Hermione enjoyed it.

She didn't talk much to her dorm mates when they came in, together and giggling, and only raised her head shortly to acknowledge their presence. One of the three, the one that had horribly dyed red hair, left at around eleven, presumably to go to Astronomy. The other two settled into their beds shortly after, and when Hermione got up to leave for her patrol, they were still whispering and giggling together.

In the Entrance Hall, there was one other girl already, waiting somewhat nervously. Considering her tie and the Hufflepuff crest on her robes, she had to be Caroline Fontane.

"Have you been waiting for long?", Hermione asked her as she drew nearer.

"Not that long", the other girl replied.

She had baby blue eyes and honey blonde hair that reflected the flames of the torches beautifully. An awkward silence settled between the two. Hermione desperately wanted to say something else, keep the conversation going and get to know the other girl, but she was afraid she would slip back into her old habit of rambling endlessly and just putting her off with that.

It had become clear to her that she didn't really have any friends at Hogwarts. And that was something she really wanted to change, only she didn't know how. It wasn't like she could rely on a troll every time she tried to make new social connections.

The silence was only breached by the sound of steps drawing nearer. Marina Flores, a Ravenclaw whom she was pretty sure was in Defence with her, followed by Professor McGonagall.

"Miss Flores, you will be taking the dungeons today", Professor McGonagall said without any preamble. "I will take the ground, first and second floor. Miss Fontane, the third and fourth floor. And Miss Potter, the fifth to seventh floor. Alright?"

They all nodded.

"Miss Potter, if you could be so nice as to show Miss Fontane the meeting point on the third floor."

"Of course", Hermione replied.

Professor McGonagall nodded shortly, what Hermione took as a dismissal. She smiled at Caroline and together, they walked out of the Entrance Hall. They were walking up the Grand Staircase and waiting for the one they were on to dock where they needed it to, when Hermione had finally talked herself into asking another question.

"Um", she began. "I don't mean to be rude, but are you in any way related to Theodor Fontane?"

"Who?", Caroline asked. "I don't think I've heard of him."

"He's a fairly popular German author of the 19th century. Nevermind."

"No, it's not a problem at all", Caroline said. "I do have some German roots, I believe, but I've never been one for literature, so I really wouldn't know."

"Oh, alright", Hermione said. "It's just, I don't think 'Fontane' is a very common surname, so I was curious."

They fell quiet again, but only for a short time, as they arrived at the meeting point on the third floor.

"Alright, we're here", Hermione said. "You know how everything works?"

Caroline nodded.

"Yes, we got the briefing on the train. Wait here for whomever did the earlier shift, listen to what they have to say and then do your own shift."

"Simple enough", Hermione said. "I'm gonna leave you here then, alright?"

"Alright", Caroline replied. "Have fun."

Hermione laughed at that.

"Thanks, but I don't think I will."

"Why not?", the other girl wondered.

"Simple, once the novelty wears off, it's more boring than anything else. However, it _is_ necessary."

"If you say so", Caroline said. " _I'm_ excited."

"Be that, then", Hermione answered. "I do have to go now, though. I have a few more stairs to climb until I'm at my meeting point."

They exchanged a smile, and then Hermione made her way up to the fifth floor. When she arrived there, a male Ravenclaw prefect was already waiting for her. She didn't know his name, and he didn't have much to tell her except that the sixth year Astronomy class was happening as planned, and he would give her the name list he had gotten from Professor Aterius.

She took that one gratefully, mainly because she didn't know all her classmates by name yet, and had no idea who of them were allowed to be outside their dormitories due to class. Not that she could match the names to the faces, but whatever. She had a list, that was more than nothing.

Still, she put it in her pocket and drew her wand. Being all alone in the corridor, even with the torches on the walls somewhat illuminating her way, she was reminded of the creepy encounter she'd had the Sunday before. She had mostly managed to not think about it too much, but now it was hard not to.

Who was that person? And what did they want from her? Were they a student? They had to be, didn't they? It wouldn't be a teacher, surely not, and if so, who would it be? She knew all of them, and she- _wait._ She _didn't_ know all of them.

 _Different time, Hermione, remember?_ Could it be a teacher? If so, Professor Mercer was the most likely suspect. "When in doubt, always blame the Defence Professor". Wasn't that something Harry had said once? It _had_ proven true for most of their time at Hogwarts.

Hermione turned another corner, and was suddenly astounded at how easily she had fallen back into her routine, following the patrol pattern she had spent weeks working out in her fifth year. Some time later, she saw several students going down the grand staircase out of the corner of her eye. Astronomy class had ended, so Hermione had finished about half of her patrol time.

Suppressing a yawn, she walked on. She didn't get very far, however, until she felt a presence behind her. _Probably a lone Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, going to bed_ , she thought. She _was_ on the seventh floor right now, after all.

Only, that feeling of being followed didn't go away. She had deliberately broken her pattern to pass both the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Common Room entrances. Whomever was out there didn't enter either one. Hermione didn't have a good feeling about this.

She walked on, down to the sixth floor again, trying to keep her steps and breathing even. At the next turn, that she had chosen specifically because it was directly illuminated by a torch, she turned around sharply. And nobody was there.

Except... no, there was someone. A dark figure, shrouded in the shadows of the castle at night, coming closer and closer to where Hermione was standing. Her wand was already drawn and she shifted in the duelling stance she had adopted during the war. She didn't want to curse the person on principle, but she would not be caught unawares.

The person walked further into the light with every step they took, and Hermione was able to make out their shape more distinctively. They were smaller than her, about four or five inches she'd estimate, and had long curly hair. So, a female, most likely. She was swaying her hips with every step she took, and suddenly, the echo of her steps seemed to be amplified in the silence around them.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat when she saw none other than Bellatrix Black coming to wards her, a superior smirk on her face.

"Look who we have here", she cooed quietly when she had come to a stop, about three feet from Hermione.

"Not shirking your duties after all?", Bellatrix chuckled darkly, which set a shiver down Hermione's back. "Or maybe, just using them as a pretence to do other mischief?"

Hermione started to answer, but was cut off before she could make a sound.

"Oh, I didn't offend you, did I?", Bellatrix asked in a babyish voice. "We all know you like to be out after dark."

The salacious grin that accompanied that remark made it very clear indeed to Hermione what Bellatrix was playing at. And, because it reminded her of what had happened in the morning, it also snapped her out of her stupor.

"What are you talking about?", she hissed. "I take my duties very seriously. Unlike you, obviously. You're not even allowed to be out right now. Just because you're a prefect doesn't mean you can just blatantly disregard the rules like that! You're not even wearing your badge!"

"Oh please", Bellatrix scoffed. "Everyone knows I'm a prefect."

The arrogance displayed only served to incense Hermione further.

"Why were you made a prefect anyways? You're-", Hermione suddenly cut herself off.

 _A Death Eater_ , she had wanted to say. _A torturer, a murderess._

"Not the most approachable person in the world?", Bellatrix filled in the gap.

Hermione just nodded sharply. She was afraid she would give something away otherwise.

"True", the other witch conceded.

Hermione did her best to keep the surprise she felt from showing on her face. Bellatrix hadn't struck her as the sort of person who could admit personal shortcomings of any kind.

"No need to look so surprised", Bellatrix said.

Obviously, her best hadn't been good enough.

"I'm well aware I'm not a good personal point of contact for anyone. However, I am a Black. That means I am entitled to certain things others aren't. You should know that. The Potters have made quite the name for themselves in the last few generations, after all."

"Are you implying I only was made a prefect because if my Family name?", Hermione asked angrily.

The 'like you' was left unspoken, but still was clearly heard nonetheless.

Bellatrix cackled.

"Don't tell me you haven't realized!"

Hermione's face must have given something away, because Bellatrix scoffed before continuing.

"You didn't. How pathetic."

Bellatrix brushed Hermione with her shoulder as she suddenly walked away. Hermione turned around once again, and watching Bellatrix's back retreat into the darkness, she couldn't help but call after her.

"I don't believe you!"

The only answer she got was an amused smirk from Bellatrix, that was only just caught by the light.

When Hermione was alone again, she shook herself out of her stupor. How come that Bellatrix could unsettle her so? She wasn't afraid of her, not really, but she did put her in emotional turmoil. She provoked her in a way nobody ever had. Two words, and she was in a rage.

 _Better acting in anger than freezing from fear_ , Hermione thought.

It seemed like she would have to make do with that for now.

* * *

Friday morning came bright and early and Hermione would like to do nothing else but turn around in her bed once more and sleep in. After her patrol she had returned to Gryffindor Tower without further incidents, but Bellatrix had still been on her mind.

She ran over their encounter in her head over and over again, what she could have done differently and the potential outcomes of that. It had kept her head so busy that it had taken her forever to finally fall asleep, and when she woke up from the light of the sun shining in through the window, she cursed herself for not properly closing her curtains the night before.

A quick tempus charm showed her that it was around seven thirty. Her dorm mates were still asleep, and obviously did not mind missing breakfast in exchange for a few extra hours of rest. Because Astronomy lessons had taken place the night before, their day would only start with third period. Hermione would only begin her school day after lunch, with Transfiguration, which was also her only class that day.

Still, she wanted to get up for breakfast, and then she would have to head to the library to meet Robarts. She was nervous for this tutoring thing. One, she was a little afraid he would want more, along the lines of what most males in this school seemed to want from her, and yesterday had clearly shown that psychologically, she was _not_ up for that kind of activity. And two, if he really wanted her academic help, she didn't know how much she could actually do.

Oh, she could lecture just fine, but teaching practical appliance wasn't something she felt she would be very good at. She herself had learned almost everything from either the textbook or the teacher, so she didn't think she would be able to give any helpful tips that he hadn't heard before.

Absentmindedly, she put on her school robes and headed down for breakfast. The meal ended at eight, so she didn't have a lot of time left if she still wanted to get something to eat. _One of the disadvantages of Gryffindor Tower_ , she thought. _The way to the Great Hall is a lot further than for the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs_. At least Ravenclaw was sharing their fate.

The Great Hall was full. All the students that had classes first period seemed to be there, trying to eat as much as possible in as little time as possible. Hermione walked all the way up the the far end of the Gryffindor table, where it was much emptier. Once again, the reason should be obvious.

The moment she had settled down and started filling her plate with some toast and scrambled eggs, an owl swooped down and landed on her left shoulder.

"Hello?", Hermione asked slightly bewildered.

Did that owl have a letter for her? But who would write her? When the owl stretched out its leg, which a scroll of parchment was tied to, Hermione did a double take. And promptly felt like hitting herself.

"Hey Swoosh", she said while untying the letter.

It seemed like her parents had written to her. The ones she didn't have to obliviate because they were muggles. The ones that were still there, and that loved her unconditionally. And she had completely forgotten about their existence.

Swoosh jumped down on the table beside her and began picking apart the toast on her plate, while Hermione unrolled the scroll.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _We're so proud of you for passing your OWLs, and with such high scores! Why haven't you written to us before? We had to hear your results from Professor McGonagall. Surely you weren't ashamed of them? If you were, don't be. There's nothing you could have done better._

 _James has been exhausting these last few days. We think he misses you._

 _Please don't stress yourself out too much, dear. We want you to keep your grades up, but not at the price of you regularly landing in the Hospital Wing from magical exhaustion. Relax a bit, talk to people and maybe make a few other friends than just the books from the library._

 _We know you don't want to hear it, but this summer, you will have to have your coming-of-age ball. We already have put it off a s long as possible, also in light of the happenings of the last weeks, but there is only so much we can do. It is expected, and will open many doors to you that might otherwise remain closed. It is important for a woman of your standing to cultivate relationships that might be profitable in the future._

 _We will never force you to marry someone you don't want to, we know better than that now, but that only means that you will have to try even harder and find someone you do like. The House of Potter has been steadily rising in esteem and with that come certain obligations that you, as Daughter of the House, will have to carry._

 _There have been many offers for contracts already, and you know that customs demand we accept one of them come your twenty-first birthday, should you not have found someone other who is suitable by then. This might seem far off for you now, but you_ are _turning seventeen in less than two weeks._

 _We're sorry it it the way it is, we know how much you don't like it, but there isn't anything we can do to change the circumstances._

 _We love you, Hermione, no matter whom you decide to marry. Also, please write to us more often. It might not be at the forefront of your mind, but we would like to hear from you at least once a week, just to make sure you're still alright._

 _Love, Mum and Dad_

While reading the letter, Hermione narrowed her eyes more and more. She had just gotten an insight into Hermione Potter's life, her past that she couldn't remember, and she did not like it.

Marriage contracts! She would _have_ to marry, if she wanted to or not, and if she didn't find someone she could see herself spending the rest of her life with within four years from now, she would be bargained off to the highest bidder either way.

So much for a choice!

And a coming-of-age ball, honestly. If it was what Hermione thought it was, it would just be a bunch of snobby purebloods she had no wish of interacting with, their parents and other relatives of choice, not that they weren't all interrelated anyways, calculating her price, while she was dolled up and presented on a silver platter for exactly that.

Cultivating relationships, her ass!

That were not the words of loving parents, but calculating politicians. And still, deep down, Hermione knew she would do it. Would attend that stupid ball, that was 'put off' until the summer, and if she had to, even marry the person her parents picked for her, just to not disappoint them.

She didn't think she could bear losing another family, not after what she had already been through.

She had to write them back. Her breakfast forgotten, Hermione took out one of her self-inking quills and a piece of parchment, and started writing.

 _Dear Mum and Dad,_

 _First and foremost, I'm sorry for not writing earlier. It completely skipped my mind. I guess I got caught up in the excitement of the new school year and all._

 _I promise I won't be too hard on myself, but I do want to give my best. I have continued six classes, Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, Defence, Arithmancy and Runes, and you know that is one over the 'traditional maximum', so I cannot slack. I don't want to be forced to drop one of them. It was already hard enough giving up Herbology and Astronomy._

 _I actually don't have a lot to say, so maybe that's why I haven't written before. Tell James 'Hi' from me, and tell him I love him._

 _Concerning the ball, I am not exactly happy about it, but I understand why it is necessary, and I thank you for moving it to the summer. I'm sorry, but I really don't know what else to tell you. Have a nice week, both of you, and I will write next week._

 _Love, Hermione_

Rereading the letter, Hermione couldn't help but feel like it sounded sort of impersonal. But, with essentially all her memories lacking, it was probably as good as it was going to get. So, she rolled the scroll up and tied it to Swoosh's leg, who had picked apart her whole breakfast, and with a gentle nip to her fingers, took off.

Looking around, Hermione saw that the majority of students had cleared from the Great Hall, and all the serving platters had disappeared. She quickly ate what was left of her toast – only a few crumbs if she were honest – and her now cold eggs. The letter she had gotten had ruined her appetite, but she didn't want to let the food go to waste.

After she left the Great Hall, her feet almost automatically carried her to the library, but when she arrived there, she realized she really didn't want to spend even more time inside. The sun was shining, and it reminded her of the hours she would spent in the grounds of Potter Manor, reading and studying, or sometimes even just enjoying the calm atmosphere. She wanted that feeling back. And, she still had time.

When the fresh air hit her face when she stepped through the doors outside, and the sun caused her eyes to flatter shut, she couldn't help her deep contented sigh. She had missed this. Sitting down under a tree near the lake, she let her thoughts wander.

She hadn't seen Andromeda once since school had started. She had planned on seeking her out as soon as possible, to talk to her and hopefully salvage the friendship that had started to develop between them over the summer, but like so many other things, she had completely forgotten about it. It didn't help that Andromeda was apparently making a conscious effort to avoid her, seeing as Hermione hadn't caught a single glimpse of her so far.

She also hadn't visited Hagrid. And she wasn't sure if she even should. She didn't know if he even knew her, or what kind of relationship they had, if even any at all. Hermione didn't think Hagrid would refuse her if she asked to have some tea with him, he was way too gentle for that, but it could still be awkward, and she supposed she had subconsciously tried to avoid everything and anything that would further strain her already precarious hold on what passed as her sanity.

It _had_ gotten worse since she had come to Hogwarts. And what the hell was Hereditary Magic? It seemed to be tied to everything. How she had ended up in the past, how she didn't have her memories and how she had for no apparent reason gotten a panic attack that was enough to land her in the Hospital Wing.

Not to mention how Healer Winters had traced whatever had caused it to her scar, the one she refused to think about for most of the time. The one that not only marked her as inferior for no other reason than being born to the 'wrong' people, but also would be her undoing in this time, with this new identity she had had thrust upon her.

Sometimes, she wished she just had died, like a regular person.

But, she hadn't, and she would make the best of it. She had no intention of trying to keep the timeline consistent with what she remembered, she didn't think that was even possible with her added presence, and because of that, it fell to her to save as many lives as possible. Because she was the only one that could, or if not that, she was the only one that _would_.

Hermione didn't think she had completely forgiven the Headmaster yet, not was she sure she ever would. For all that she didn't like what he did, however, she had to admit that at least he had had some sort of plan, and in the end, it _did_ work. That was more than could be said about her.

For now, she supposed she would just take things as they came, and make the best of of it. And that meant getting up and going to the library as to not miss Robarts. Oh, and placing an owl order to Hogsmeade to acquire at least two never ending journals she could keep her notes on 'sensitive subjects' in. The service had been put into effect two years ago, so luckily that saved her a lot of effort.

Sighing, she cast a tempus charm. She only had about fifteen minutes left, and she would take at least ten to get to the library if she didn't want to be out of breath when she arrived.

It was incredible how fast the time seemed to pass when she was lost in her thoughts. She would have liked to stay outside a little longer, but that wasn't possible. So, with one last glance at the beautiful grounds surrounding her, she got up and went back to the school.

* * *

The tutoring session itself passed without much incident. She had found out that the reason he had asked her to do it, and not one of his friends, was that the other two boys in Ravenclaw were Burke and Rookwood, both of whom didn't want to have anything to do with Robarts, who was muggleborn, and his actual friends were the three Hufflepuff boys.

Edgar, who didn't have Runes, Mark, who didn't have Runes, and Paul, who did have Runes, and also was fairly good at it, but couldn't explain for the life of him. Robarts, who wanted her to call him Gawain, had also made no advances on her whatsoever, which had been very welcome. They had worked for almost two hours, first covering some of the basic theory, before Hermione had tried to induce him into the meditative state that would help him feel his magic better.

That hadn't been nearly as successful as the theory part, but that didn't have to mean anything. It had taken Hermione quite a long time to get there herself, and she still had to focus a lot. Not as much since she had learned some wandless magic, but she didn't think it would ever come as naturally to her than to some other people.

After Hermione had called their session to a close, they had remained sitting at the same table, both working in silence. Gawain was looking over his Transfiguration notes, no doubt preparing for their afternoon class, and Hermione was pretending to catch up in everything she had missed Wednesday.

She didn't want to risk anything else, for fear of Gawain asking uncomfortable questions. He was a Ravenclaw, after all, and that wouldn't be at all out of character for one of his House.

Her lack of real focus had Hermione more skimming the textbook than properly reading, and absently making notes she didn't really need anyways. So when she heard a voice she immediately recognized as Bellatrix's, she couldn't help but take notice.

"Black, what an unpleasant surprise", a soft male voice answered.

"Watch your mouth, little Malfoy", Bellatrix replied. "Now shoo."

"I don't think I will", Malfoy said.

Lucius, Hermione guessed.

"Why don't you go to the class you're supposed to be attending right now?"

"How do you know what classes I take? And when they are?", Bellatrix asked suspiciously.

"Know thy enemy."

Hermione could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

"If you weren't betrothed to my sister, know that you would be in a lot of pain right now. Besides, _you_ have classes as well."

"History, as you well know. Binns doesn't care if I'm not there, if he even noticed in the first place."

"So what, you decided to come bother me in the library instead?", Bellatrix asked acidly.

"As if I would ever voluntarily subject myself to your presence", Malfoy scoffed. "I was fetching a book Andromeda was interested in, if you have to know."

Andromeda? Were they friends? Her and _Malfoy?_ Who, by the way, would marry Narcissa? Hermione couldn't see it.

"Then why doesn't she come get it for herself?", Bellatrix asked. "

A gentleman does what he can to please a lady", Malfoy replied.

"Yeah, whatever", Bellatrix said.

"Just because Lestrange doesn't do these things for you, when you have more than double the classes he does, doesn't mean I won't do them for your sister."

"Being slotted to take twelve NEWTs does not make me incapable of going to the library myself. And I think you would do well to remember that while Andromeda is gentler than I am, she is still a Black. Patronising her will get you nowhere except on her bad side."

Bellatrix was taking _all_ classes? _HOW?_ Time-turners weren't a thing yet, they were only in the first stage of development, so how was this even possible?

"Are you giving me tips on how to seduce your sister?", Malfoy asked mockingly. "Why, I feel honoured. And you don't even like me."

"Like you or not, we _are_ going to be family one day. And I refuse to see Meda unhappy because you're unable to not be a dick to her."

"Thanks, then", Malfoy said.

He sounded almost sincere.

"Just, get out of my sight, will you?", Bellatrix said. "I have actual work to do, unlike you."

When Malfoy passed their table by, Hermione did her best to pretend to be engrossed in her work. Once again, however, what she had assumed to know had thoroughly been proven wrong. And it wasn't even mainly about Bellatrix somehow taking all the classes, and still being as good as Hermione was, with only six of them and five years more experience.

It was the fact that Lucius Malfoy and Andromeda Black were betrothed. And apparently got along at least decently. It didn't fit in with Hermione's view of the world at all. Was it possible that the timeline was so different from her original one that all her knowledge was basically incorrect? But no, that couldn't be. Andromeda had talked to her, had been nice to her.

 _But you're a pureblood now_ , a small voice whispered. _And even then, she broke off contact the moment you came back to school. Because you're a Gryffindor. Are you sure she's different?_

Hermione sighed. No, she wasn't sure at all anymore. Maybe she should just observe the situation for a few weeks, and then reevaluate. Gather more information before taking a course of action. Yes, that would probably the smartest decision. Andromeda was more of a personal project anyways, in the grand scheme of things, Hermione supposed.

"I'm gonna go up to my dorm before lunch real quick, so is it okay of I leave you here?", she asked Gawain.

"Hm", he looked up. "Oh, yeah, sure. Until next week, then?"

"Until Transfiguration this afternoon, I'd think", Hermione smiled. "But I know what you mean. Next week at ten, this table?"

"Alright", Gawain replied.

A cursory glance around showed her that she hadn't forgotten anything, and with one last wave, that she didn't think Gawain had seen, she left the library.

* * *

On Saturday, she went up to the Owlery and sent out the order for not only the notebooks she wanted, but also a self-inking quill with several different ink colours. On Tuesday, her package arrived. After a rather theory-heavy Charms lesson, Hermione had made her way to the library, where she spent her time double-checking the spells she had planned on putting on the notebooks to prevent the information from going to anyone it wasn't meant for, namely nobody but her.

The easiest way would have been a blood-lock, and she had even found some rudimentary theory on how one would be constructed, but she didn't feel comfortable working with something like that without really any tangible information, and without understanding what she was doing. There was a reason blood magic was frowned upon, beyond social stigma. It was dangerous, and even the slightest mistake could have dire consequences.

So instead of taking that unnecessary risk, Hermione had decided to go the more traditional route of layering wards and enchantments, arranging them in a way that would keep them from interfering with each other or even cancelling each other out completely, while at the same time not overloading the leather and parchment the notebook itself was made from and leading it to spontaneously combust in an inopportune moment.

She was so caught up in her work that when she looked up she was startled to see that someone had entered her field of vision. Nobody ever came into this corner of the library. It was why she had made it her own.

"Potter", the boy, whom she now recognized as one of the Prewett twins, said. "I was hoping I could talk to you."

A wave of her wand brought some sort of order into the mess on the table on front of her, and she gestured towards one of the empty chairs.

"Go ahead."

He took the hint and sat down before addressing her again.

"Look, you don't have to answer me if you don't want to, but...", he trailed off.

"What?", Hermione asked.

Now that she had been pulled out of her work she noticed how hungry she was, which unfortunately made her rather irritable.

"What happened last week?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you were in the Hospital Wing", the red-headed boy said awkwardly.

It was obvious how uncomfortable he was, but Hermione didn't have any sympathy. It was none of his business, after all.

"Why do you care?"

"Well..."

"Spit it out already, would you?", Hermione asked annoyed.

She did not want to have this conversation, and her stomach was making it known more and more that she needed food. With her luck, she had probably missed lunch. Again.

"I was the one who found you", he blurted out.

"What do you mean, 'found me'?", Hermione raised her eyebrows suspiciously.

"I, well, Fabian and I, we, um... we followed you."

" _Why?_ "

"We didn't know it was you, alright?", Gideon said defensively. "You were invisible, and we were curious."

"Aha", Hermione said.

It did make sort of sense, though. She must have gotten from the library – this exact same spot – to the Hospital Wing _somehow_ , and nobody would have stumbled across her on accident. But still...

"Why tell me?"

"Because I know you don't have many friends."

 _How nice of him to put an 'm' before 'any'._

"And I was worried. We were both worried. And..."

This time, Hermione just looked at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

"And I guess I wanted you to know that even though we've been nothing more than classmates for

five years, if you ever need someone to talk to, someone to be your friend, I'm here. We both are." Hermione was speechless.

"Say something, please?"

"I, um... sorry, I did not expect this. At all", Hermione said to buy some time.

 _What do I say?_

"Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome."

There was an awkward silence between them once more.

"Why didn't your brother come?", Hermione asked suddenly. "And which twin are you, anyways?"

"I'm Gideon. Fabian has Herbology."

"And you couldn't time this so you could both come to me at the same time?"

"I didn't _want_ to time this so we could be here at the same time", Gideon corrected.

"Why?", Hermione asked curiously.

"Because Fabian tends to act first and think later. And I didn't think that would be a good strategy when confronting you."

 _Why?_ , Hermione wanted to ask again, but she refrained. If she had had her memories, she was sure she would have known the answer to that.

"Fair enough", she said instead.

"You know, you aren't nearly as scary as I thought you would be", Gideon suddenly stated.

"Thanks?"

Then, her stomach cramped painfully, and she grimaced apologetically.

"Did I miss lunch?"

"You did", Gideon confirmed. "Do you want to get something to eat? I know where the kitchens are."

"That's a really nice offer, thank you", Hermione said. "I also know where the kitchens are though, so you don't really need to show me. You can still come with me if you want", she hastily added.

Even though it would take away time from her research, she found herself longing for human contact, a friendship.

"Let me just get my things and we can go", she said, while already starting to sweep up all the loose parchment she had lying around and closing the books she had used.

"Let me help you with that", Gideon offered.

Together, they sorted the books back into the shelves where they belonged, and after they had finished, Gideon jokingly held out his arm to escort Hermione out of the library.

"Such a gentleman!', she teased, and when he only rolled his eyes and laughed, Hermione's chest grew warm with happiness.

Friends, she decided, were something everybody needed, no matter how many secrets they had to keep.

* * *

 **So, I moved this week, and Uni starts on Monday, so it's probably going to take a little longer between updates from now on. I'm sorry, but real life takes precedence here.**

 **Please do review and tell me what you think. It helps me out a lot, and it always makes me happy! :)**


	13. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

* * *

Wednesday morning in Potions, Hermione made her official acquaintance with Fabian Prewett. As she had spent the previous evening at the library, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team had had its first practice after try-outs, they hadn't had a chance to meet then.

Hermione did find Fabian to be more outgoing than his brother, an impression that was only confirmed over the following week, however she also noticed that Gideon was a lot less shy than he had come across that day in the library. The twins painfully reminded her of how Fred and George had been, before Fred had fallen in the Battle of Hogwarts. They weren't as extravagant as the Weasley twins of her memories, but the relation was unmistakable.

It was astonishing, really, how fast they became close. Conversation flowed easily between all three of them, and they always managed to charm a smile on Hermione's face.

Despite this distraction, Hermione didn't forget about her stay in the Hospital Wing. Her magical signatures were separating again. And while brooding about the why took up quite some time in her daily schedule, she ultimately decided that it didn't really matter all that much.

That it gave her an excuse not to think about her scar was just an added bonus. Instead, she turned to meditation again. After the Formalization, it had worked like a miracle. And yet, for some reason, now that she was at Hogwarts, she was making frustratingly little progress.

It did leave her calm and collected afterwards, sure, but she didn't get that feeling of wholeness that she had gotten before, and she intuitively knew that that was because she didn't manage to get the same effect, the one she wanted.

Between the frustration about her failures and the fun she had with the twins, time seemed to fly by, and when Hermione woke up Tuesday morning, it took her a moment to realize that it was the 19th September already.

Her birthday.

Today, she would be turning twenty-three, as well as seventeen. She was allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts again, and she was allowed to apparate. At least technically. She didn't think her old license would still be valid if she even had it with her.

As usual, she was the first one of the girls in her dorm to be awake, and she underwent all her morning rituals uninterrupted. Clouds were lining the sky, the sun hidden behind them. So, no sitting outside under her favourite tree by the lake today. Ever since she had gotten the notebooks a week ago and taken the time to meticulously put down all the information she had, she had been able to relax a lot more.

She had warded the box she kept it in, and hidden it deep down in her trunk, which had reminded her that it would maybe be a good idea to recreate her beaded bag. She hadn't found a suitable one, however, as bags sold in wizarding shops tended to be charmed already, and she didn't really want to put in the effort to unravel those just so she could place her own, especially because those charms were almost always locked, and undoing that... well, let's just say that the effort _really_ wasn't worth it when she could just buy a perfectly fine bag in a muggle shop instead. She hadn't really had an opportunity to do that yet, though, seeing as she was at school.

There weren't many people already at breakfast, as it was still fairly early. For her, that meant she had space enough around her for all the cards and presents she had gotten. There were a lot of generic well wishes, from basically all the Noble Houses, more likely than not trying to curry favour for some thing or the other.

Hermione just rolled her eyes at them and not even properly read them before stacking them on a messy pile next to her. A part of her wanted to just burn them, but doing that in the Great Hall was probably not the best idea. After all, the was a Daughter of the House of Potter, and she should act in a manner befitting of her status.

Among the cards were also a few letters, proposing if not outright marriage at least an introduction to this or that fellow, 'a cousin of my great aunt's nephew's daughter, a charming man who has unfortunately not found his match yet', and might she not be amenable to meeting him and getting to know him better.

 _No, thanks. I'll pass on that one,_ Hermione thought.

Gringotts had written to her, asking her (or rather ordering her) to come in with her parents at the earliest convenience to take care of some financial matters that had arisen with her coming of age. There was also a letter from her parents, congratulating her and thankfully leaving out politics and stupid duties for once, and one from James, that was just adorable.

And finally, there was a note. A mysterious note that read _Enjoy your Birthday. Isn't life so much greater with a little spark in it?_

It eerily reminded Hermione of the note she had gotten in the summer. Folding the piece of parchment up and putting it in the pocket of her robes, she resolved to compare the handwriting once she got back up to the dorm.

Because it was a Tuesday, she only had Charms first period and Transfiguration last. Professor Flitwick happily wished her all the best before continuing to lecture on the finer points of Elemental Charms, particularly the theory of charms relating to the air. It was interesting, true, but she already knew everything Professor Flitwick was going to say anyways, and her mind was preoccupied with that peculiar note.

Since the summer, she had developed the theory that it might have been Andromeda, seeing that she found her and saved her. She would have the easiest time connecting the dots. That the handwriting of her letters and the notes didn't match could be a diversion.

 _Or rater_ , Hermione thought dryly, _wishful thinking._ She wanted Andromeda to reach out to her, hoped she would work through whatever had caused her to throw their budding friendship away for empty reasons that weren't really reasons at all. Hoping that there were indeed such problems in Andromeda's life and that she didn't just simply not want to be Hermione's friend. She hadn't gotten that impression from the letters they exchanged, true, but that didn't have to mean anything.

All throughout the lesson, she could feel eyes on her. At first, she had thought it was only Gideon, who, for whatever reason, hadn't stopped looking at her ever since Professor Flitwick had congratulated her. But when she turned back, she met Gideon's gaze, he looked away, and the feeling still persisted.

She didn't want to look around too obviously, and because she was sitting in the first row as always, she was left guessing the whole period. When the bell rang, she turned around as quickly as possible, but she didn't catch whomever had been watching her. She did spot Bellatrix in the back, however, and averted her eyes immediately. She didn't want to think about her today.

"Hermione!", Gideon called.

He and Fabian were at the door already – how did they get there so fast?! – and waving to her, wanting her to hurry up.

"Coming", Hermione said, and walked towards them.

"Bye, Professor Flitwick", she said over her shoulder.

"Goodbye, Miss Potter", he replied. "Have a nice day."

"Thanks, you too", she called back, before the twins linked their arms, Gideon to her left, Fabian to her right, and pulled her out of the classroom.

"Finished sucking up to the teacher?", Fabian asked jokingly.

"I wasn't 'sucking up'", Hermione protested.

"You were!"

"Was not!"

"Were too!"

"I was not! Help me out here, Gideon!"

"Well...", Gideon said. "I will admit that wishing a teacher a nice day does not classify as 'sucking up'."

"See, I told you", Hermione exclaimed triumphantly. "It's called being polite."

Gideon held up his right hand, stalling any further replies.

"Nonetheless", he continued, "you are very much a teacher's pet, Miss Perfect Prefect Potter."

"Nobody calls me that", Hermione shot back indignantly.

"Not to your face, you mean", Fabian said.

"Great", Hermione replied dryly, but honestly, she didn't really care all that much about what other people thought of her, or called her behind her back. And besides, there were worse things to be called than 'perfect'.

"Where are we going, anyway?", she asked after it had become obvious they were not heading back to Gryffindor Tower.

"It's a surprise", Gideon said.

"Should I be afraid?" "Of course not! You know us."

"On the contrary, Fabian", Hermione replied, "I don't really. Sharing classes for five years doesn't count."

"Yes, well. You can trust us, it's going to be great."

"Mhm", Hermione hummed doubtfully.

She'd just have to find out, wouldn't she?

When they exited the castle they were met by a cold wind. The grounds were empty and the clouds overhead promised rain. Hermione's reluctance at the surprise the twins had planned for her only grew bigger and bigger when they closed in on the broom shed, and when Fabian had broken the lock and taken out three of the brooms that didn't look nearly as bad as they did in Hermione Granger's first year, she had actually started to back away a few steps.

No matter if the brooms weren't nearly in as bad a condition as she remembered them being, she didn't trust those things at all. She was afraid of heights, and even more afraid of falling, especially when the only thing between her and certain death – or at least injury – was an enchanted stick of wood.

"We're going flying!"

The twins had turned around with wide smiles on their faces that faded when they saw Hermione's expression.

"What is it?", Gideon asked.

"I..."

"Nothing, come on!", Fabian exclaimed.

Gideon hit his arm, and not exactly softly, judging from the wince that passed over his brother's face.

"Sorry. But it's going to be great! I don't get why you don't want to do it. Is it because we're breaking school regulations by breaking into this thing?", he asked, pointing at the broom shed.

"No, it's not because of that", Hermione sighed.

She didn't want to admit her fear of flying, what if Hermione Potter had been just as much of a natural on a broom as Harry and James?

"Then let's go, let's do this!"

 _You're a Gryffindor, Hermione. Be brave, stand your ground. It doesn't matter what might or might nit have been in a past you don't remember._

"No, I'm not doing it", Hermione said vehemently.

 _There you are,_ she told herself. _It wasn't that hard, now was it?_

"Ah, come one, why not?", Fabian pouted.

"You're going to be perfectly safe", Gideon added.

It seemed like he had at least partially caught onto what was stopping her.

"I don't care", Hermione stood her ground. "It's not going to happen."

Fabian sighed. "Alright, Hermione. If you really don't want to do it, fine. No hard feelings."

"But in First Year, in out Flying classes, you had so much fun. You smiled, a real and true smile, and your eyes were lighting up and you were happy."

"We want you to smile like that again."

Hermione hesitated. She wasn't _just_ Hermione Granger anymore. There was more to her now.

"Look, you don't have to tell us why."

"If you don't want to do it, say the word and we won't."

Hermione was tempted to give into the offer, very tempted. And yet, she held back.

Something in her wanted to do it. To mount a broom and feel the wind in her face as she flew through the air. She had no desire whatsoever to do any of the tricks she saw Quidditch players pull off on a regular basis, no flips, rolls or dives, but to just fly promised a feeling of freedom that she longed for.

"I... alright. But we're going slowly."

"Of course."

* * *

They flew until it was time for lunch, and Hermione had been pleasantly surprised that she had actually had fun. Once she had overcome her fear of not being able to control the broom, she had followed the twins' example and accelerated and then suddenly stopped an flew curves and loops in a way she had never thought herself capable of.

She had avoided anything that would mean being upside down, or close to it, even for a moment, and she didn't fly higher than approximately thirty feet. But she could now definitely emphasize with what Harry had always claimed, that flying gave him a sense of freedom that nothing else seemed to achieve. When she was in the air, whether she was chasing after one or both of the twins (or they were chasing her) or if she just hovered and breathed in the air around her, she could leave all her worries behind.

So it was with a tinge of regret that she returned her broom to the shed and went to lunch, the twins quietly beside her. She appreciated that they seemed to notice her needing a bit of time to herself, to sort out her thoughts once more.

After lunch, Fabian went to Herbology, and Hermione and Gideon went back to the Gryffindor Common Room. It had finally started raining, and she did commiserate with Fabian, who had to be outside for the next ninety minutes in that weather, roofed greenhouses or not. The damp and cold could still chill you to your bones.

"I'm glad you're smiling again", Gideon said, after they had been quietly sitting together for a few minutes.

"I'm glad I let myself be convinced", Hermione admitted. "I didn't realize how much I needed this."

They fell silent again, the only noise between them the cackling of the fire. They weren't the only ones in the Common Room, far from it, but nobody was talking. Considering that Gryffindor was widely known to be the loudest House of the four it bordered on a miracle.

Hermione itched to just get up and go to the library, to get a book and continue working, but she forced herself to stay. Just once, she would relax and not stress out about the future. She would enjoy this peace, while it lasted.

She only snapped out of it when Gideon poked her and told her it was time for Transfiguration.

 _And this right there is why I never just relax and do nothing_ , Hermione thought to herself. _I lose track of time, and unlike when I'm doing research, that time is lost._

Professor McGonagall did not acknowledge in any way that she knew it was Hermione's birthday. On one hand, Hermione was glad to not get any extra attention, on the other hand, a part of her wished she had.

The lesson passed without incident, and she had already planned to go to the library to finish the assignments she had received today. Usually, Charms would have already been done, so it was doubly important that she get to that and Transfiguration both. After the lesson had ended, however, the twins had disrupted her plans by dragging her to the kitchens for an early dinner and birthday cake, and then they had more or less ordered her to watch their Quidditch practice.

"You need to do something else than rot away in the library every once in a while", to put in in their words. Not that they were wrong, per se, but the matter of the fact remained that her interest in Quidditch was marginal at best. And she did have work to do. So, she had argued.

"I _did_ do something other than 'rotting away in the library' today. And while I get what you're trying to do, and I appreciate it, I'm not really interested in Quidditch, and even less in watching you practice. And there is stuff I have to do, that I haven't done yet because I spent the day with you. And I'm not saying I regret it", Hermione stalled their protests, "but it is the truth. And besides, the weather is shit."

At that, they had laughed out loud.

"Okay, we're letting you go."

"But only because of the cursing", Fabian added with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Better that than nothing", Hermione replied jokingly. "Seriously though, if you want me to, I'll come to the games. You know, cheer for you or something."

"Really?", Gideon asked surprised.

"You don't have to, you know", Fabian said.

"I want to", Hermione said firmly.

If that was what it took to solidify the tenuous friendship they had, she would do it anytime.

"Alright, see you in potions tomorrow, then?", Fabian asked.

"See you", Hermione replied, and then sent them a smile and turned away before the situation could become awkward.

She immediately went to the library, seeing as she didn't really need dinner anymore after the 'snack' she'd just had in the kitchen, and started her Charms essay. When she finished that, her eyes were ready to fall closed, but a glance at the time told her that it was way too early to go to bed.

She tried working on Transfiguration, without much success. Even though she wasn't doing the work for the first time, it still required concentration, something she didn't really have at the moment.

So instead, she did something she hadn't done in a long time; she picked up a fiction novel. She didn't get very far, however, before she noticed a presence nearby, and lowered the book.

"What do you want, Bellatrix?", Hermione asked wearily.

She just couldn't find it in herself to feel more than that at the moment. She was exhausted, and didn't want to fight.

"Oh, I just thought I'd say 'Hi'", Bellatrix replied. "See how my favourite Gryffindor is doing and all."

Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Well, you've seen me. Go away."

"The fun hasn't even started yet", Bellatrix pouted.

"On the contrary, the whole day has been great fun for me. You, however, are in the process of ruining it. So, if you don't mind, leave me be."

There was something in Bellatrix's eyes, Hermione didn't know what it was, but it was unlike anything she had ever seen there before.

"I have better things to do anyway", Bellatrix just said, shrugging, and _miraculously_ she turned around and left Hermione alone.

That action was so out of character that Hermione continued to stare after the other witch even though she wasn't even visible anymore for a long time, the book in her lap forgotten. She was only shaken out of her stupor when she could feel breathing on her right cheek.

"Happy Birthday", a voice whispered in her ear, but as Hermione turned around sharply to see who was there, she was alone.

Her heart was beating frantically in her chest, and she decided that maybe it was time to call it a night, although it was still fairly early. It seemed she was even more exhausted than she had thought she was, and needed sleep more urgently than she had originally thought.

Her mind was playing tricks on her, first Bellatrix and now that voice. Returning the book she was reading to the shelf, Hermione picked up her bag and left the library.

 _Today was a good day_ , she thought to herself on the way back to Gryffindor Tower. She firmly banned all mysterious notes and voices from her head and fell asleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

One and a half weeks later, Hermione was once again invited to Professor McGonagall's office. The timing was especially convenient because it allowed her to get out of the nice 'get-together' of the Slug Club she had been invited to.

For days, she had worried about what to do, if she should go or not, when a note from her Head of House had saved her on Friday evening. And still, through the relief she felt a slight anxiety arose. With everything else that had been going on, she had largely succeeded in putting the issue off her mind, but now Bellatrix's words from two weeks ago came back fully, haunting her.

They were already halfway through the second game, which would probably be the last one for the night, and Hermione still hadn't found the courage to ask the question. Throughout those two weeks, it had passed mind more than once to stay behind after Transfiguration, to seek Professor McGonagall out in her office, or even just write her a note, but so far, she had done nothing.

It wasn't even that hard, asking a simple question. It was only the answer she was afraid of. It had taken her a while to finally admit it to herself, but now that she'd arrived at that point, she knew. And she had a sneaking suspicion as to what the answer to her question would be, and she did not want to hear it.

Because that would force her to confront reality, a reality that was completely new to her, and still should have been expected. It would mean being placed in a position, in no way out of her own volition, that she had looked down on her whole life. It would mean she had become the very thing she had always despised.

"Professor", she began. "I had a question."

"Ask away", Professor McGonagall replied.

 _You're a Gryffindor, aren't you?_ , Hermione asked herself.

"Was I only made Prefect because of my family name?"

There, it was out. Instead of an immediate denial, Professor McGonagall sighed, and Hermione could feel her heart sinking. She had been right.

"Not only because of that, Miss Potter. I would be lying if I said it didn't play any role at all, however."

"What does that mean, exactly?" Hermione refused to jump to conclusions.

"It means that you, as well as Miss Gamp or Miss Vaughn could have reasonably been granted the position. Your grades are all similar enough, and all of you would have completed your duties with utmost diligence. The Potter family, however, is the most prominent of the three, especially with the increasing political activity in the last few generations."

 _And had Lord Potter been displeased by the fact his daughter didn't get elevated status, he could have made that displeasure known easily enough. And that would have been bad for the school_ , Hermione silently added.

So, the same reason Malfoy got made Prefect, even though it was clear from the beginning he would abuse his authority, and probably also why Ron had been made prefect instead of Harry, who might have been the Boy-Who-Lived, but didn't have any family, Neville, who only had his grandmother, or Dean, who was muggleborn.

"What has brought on that question?", Professor McGonagall asked after a moment of silence. "Mate, by the way."

Hermione quickly moved her remaining knight in the way before responding.

"Something Bellatrix said", she said quietly.

"Miss Black?", Professor McGonagall said surprised. "I didn't realize you were on speaking terms."

Hermione laughed dryly. "More like fighting terms, I'd say."

"Do try to keep the damage to a minimum, please", the Professor said. "I'd prefer to not see something like what happened four years ago again."

"Yes, Professor", Hermione replied.

 _What happened four years ago?_

"Did you enjoy your birthday?", Professor McGonagall suddenly asked a few moves later.

"I did", Hermione replied. "Gideon and Fabian took me flying."

"I wasn't aware you liked it", Professor McGonagall said. "I don't believe I have ever seen you on a broom."

"Yes, well, I do. I just didn't know before."

"I'm not judging you, Miss Potter. While an enjoyable pastime, it is seldom required for a profession."

"Why did you accept this?", Hermione suddenly asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you accept teaching me chess? You have already so much to do. You are Deputy Headmistress, Head of House Gryffindor _and_ Transfiguration Professor for all seven year groups. I don't imagine you have much free time at all. Why did you agree to spend some of it doing this, when I could have just as easily asked someone else, who has more time and isn't my teacher?"

Professor McGonagall stayed silent for a moment before responding.

"Let me ask you a question of my own before I answer yours, Miss Potter. You are, of course, right, and you are a smart girl. You have known this even before you asked me. So, why did you ask me, and not someone else, as you said you could have done?"

 _Time for honesty_ , Hermione thought.

"I didn't know who else I would ask. I don't know if you know this, but I haven't really had any friends for the last few years."

"I have noticed you have become close to the Prewett twins lately, however."

"I have, but they aren't really the type for games that require patience, like chess does. And also, well, I had never really planned on asking you, to be honest. It was more a spur-of-the-moment decision when I saw the chess set on your shelf, and I didn't think you'd ever accept."

"And there you have your answer, Miss Potter."

"How do you mean? I don't understand..."

"I could see it was a spontaneous question, but I could also see that it was both important to you and that, if I declined, you would never ask anyone else again. I have no idea _why_ it is important to you, and you are under no obligation whatsoever to tell me, but I feel like I there is much I have to make up to you."

Professor McGonagall continued before Hermione could ask anything.

"You were always a good student, exceptional really, and only driven further to excellence through your rivalry with Miss Black. When it escalated, naturally I felt the obligation to talk to both of your parents about it. When you came back, you had changed. You were quieter, and you didn't let Miss Black provoke you anymore. I thought it was a good change, and your assignments were as close to perfect as one could get. You put so much work into school, and I was proud of you. So proud, that I didn't care to look beyond the empty facade presented to me, so proud, that I missed all the signs that were there, that I can see now so clearly, but that I had been blind to up until a few weeks ago."

"You blame yourself", Hermione whispered.

"I do, to a certain degree. It was luck, sheer dumb luck, that you are even here to have this conversation with me. I failed you, Hermione, in the worst way possible. And I would do anything to make it up to you. If playing chess with me once or twice a fortnight is what you want, what you _need_ , then who am I to deny you? After everything..."

Hermione stayed quiet for a moment, just letting the words sink in.

"I don't blame you, you know. I don't think there is anything you could have done."

"You don't know that", Professor McGonagall countered. " _I_ don't know that. We will never know."

"And does it even matter?", Hermione asked softly. "We can't change the past. We can just look forward to the future and do our best to shape it to our desires."

"Which is what I am trying to do. I am trying to make it up to you in whatever way I can, even though it will never be enough."

"I... you don't need to make anything up to me Professor", Hermione said.

"I want to", Professor McGonagall replied firmly. "It's the least I can do. And remember, if there is anything else you need help with, you can always come to me. I will be there for you."

"Thank you", Hermione said sincerely. "This means a lot to me."

And it did. When was the last time an adult had actually been there to support her? Even realized that she was in need of support, or could be in need of support?

"You're very welcome, Miss Potter", Professor McGonagall replied warmly.

Hermione was reminded that, despite of how it might seem the majority of the time, she wasn't completely alone in all of this. It was a good feeling.

"If there isn't anything else, I do believe we have a game to continue."

* * *

It was long after curfew when Hermione exited Professor McGonagall's office to return to her dorm. When she heard talking a few corridors to her left, her first instinct was to search the culprits out and deduct them points for the transgression.

Then, her mind drew the parallels to the last time she had left Professor McGonagall's office after curfew. Not an experience she particularly wanted to repeat. Should she just ignore it, then? It went against the rule-abiding part of her, but ultimately, she settled on that decision. No reason to make thinks harder than they already were.

She was distracted, had been the whole evening, mulling over the words Professor McGonagall had said to her. For the first time, she realized how selfish she had been in just going and dying. Here, people that presumably had nothing to do with any of it were blaming themselves, and she was still here. If it still existed, how were people in her old timeline faring? How was Harry, who had finally been happy for the first time in his life? Had she destroyed that, just for the selfish desire to escape?

When she reached the Grand Staircase, she came to a sudden stop. Both because there was actually no staircase attached to the corridor she was in at the moment, and because a little further down, she had found the source of the talking.

A blond boy was escorting a girl with long brown curls. For a moment, she thought it was Bellatrix, walking with Lucius Malfoy. Then, the staircase they were on turned, and their faces became visible. Automatically, Hermione took a step back into the darkness, not wanting them to spot her, even though she know knew she wasn't looking at Bellatrix, but rather her sister, Andromeda.

It did make sense for them to be out together, seeing as they were apparently betrothed, but Hermione still couldn't explain why they were out at this time, and why they were so obviously not hiding. It seemed a very un-Slytherin thing to do.

Only when she got back to her dorm and was surprised by the other three girls still being up, whispering and giggling about the Slug Club did she put the pieces together. The two Slytherins must have been invited as well – and why wouldn't they, considering the families they came from? – and that was why they weren't the least bit concerned about being out after curfew.

And it meant something else as well. Hermione had so far not had the opportunity to corner Andromeda to confront her about breaking off contact so suddenly, but now it had been presented to her on a silver platter. She had until the next Slug Club meeting, whenever that would be, to work out a strategy to talk to Andromeda without making things worse.

She just hoped it would be enough.

* * *

 **I wanted to have this out much earlier, but Uni work and migraines got in the way.**

 **If you have any thoughts or comments, please do leave a review! I appreciate every single one of them :)**


	14. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

* * *

Looking at herself in the mirror one last time, Hermione smiled. She looked good, if she might say so herself.

Her dress went to her mid-thigh, and had a closed collar. At the lower edge, it was an opaque black, that reflected any light that hit it directly in a sparkling silver. Moving upwards, the opaque black colour made way to stars of different sizes, becoming more and more scattered, until the dress was a dark blue chiffon at her neck.

She had found the dress at Potter Manor, and had immediately fallen in love with it. It did have short sleeves, however, so she had to modify it. Luckily, she had found some leftover fabric and notes on how the dress was enchanted and the two fabrics fused to get the effect she wanted, and Hermione had been surprised at how naturally the sewing came to her. She had never thought herself talented at crafts such as these, considering the failure her knitted elf hats were in Fifth Year.

It was actually very calming and had helped her feel more at home in a Manor and Family that were, for all intents and purposes, completely foreign to her. What had happened to that peace? Hermione didn't know.

When she had received the invitation to attend the unofficial Halloween Party Professor Slughorn was throwing, she had felt lost, but also excited at the same time. This was her chance to corner Andromeda! However, the excitement was soon pushed aside by feelings of anxiety. There was a reason she had been so glad to have an excuse to not attend the first Slug Club meeting, after all.

And to make matters even worse, they were required to wear a costume! She didn't have a costume, and she didn't _want_ one. It would only serve to make her more insecure than she was already. And then, looking through her trunk and trying to find something 'normal' she could pass off as a costume, or change to be so, she had come across this dress.

And with it, the feel of the magic imbued in it that resonated with her on a level that she had never noticed before this summer, came the good memories. The feeling of peace and belonging that had all but vanished when she had come back to Hogwarts. She knew, she would be wearing that dress, period. With the long sleeves added, opaque at the wrists and becoming more sheer as they moved up to the shoulders, with the same stars that were on the main body of the dress, her scar would be covered. She had made sure of that.

Now there was only the question of who or what she was supposed to be. Last night, just before falling asleep, she had suddenly remembered. On her eighth birthday her parents had taken her to view a children's adaption of Mozart's opera "the Magic Flute". And there was the Queen of the Night, that had worn a somewhat similar dress. With black and blue, and the stars, it fit perfectly. So, Hermione had put her hair up in a messy bun, some strands framing her face, and conjured a few sparkling fake-diamonds, that complimented the silver reflections of the black fabric perfectly.

A hint of makeup, and here she stood. Smiling at herself in the mirror, and truly feeling good.

"I like your dress", a voice said from behind Hermione.

In the mirror, she could see one of her dorm mates approaching. Both Annalena and Melissa had been invited to the Slug Club party as well.

"Thank you, Annalena", Hermione replied.

Annalena Gamp was someone Hermione wasn't sure if she liked. On the surface, she was a very nice girl. There wasn't really anything that stood out about her, except maybe that she was better looking than the average girl. Tall, long straight brown hair, blue eyes. A perfectly oval shaped face, and well proportioned body. But there was something about her that just rubbed Hermione the wrong way, why she would probably never become real friends with her.

Annalena was a Gamp, the three times great-granddaughter of Nathaniel Gamp, who had established Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration and its five exceptions, and in everything she did there was this underlying sense of entitlement because of it. It made her seem somehow fake, and Hermione didn't like it.

The other Gryffindor girl in her year that had been invited was Melissa Vaughn. Whom she liked even less. Melissa was muggleborn, like herself, but her family was incredibly rich, and Melissa accordingly arrogant and spoiled. To Hermione, who had lived in a tent for a whole year, it was just incredibly shallow, and grating on her nerves.

Not that the Potters were poor, mind you, but she didn't flaunt her wealth like that. And she had always hated people being so insistent their material possessions made them somehow superior. One had to only look at the old pureblood families to know that wasn't true.

"I like your costume as well", Hermione said.

She really didn't. Annalena looked ridiculous. She was in a blindingly white dress, floor length, that shimmered golden when the light hit at the right angle, and had a horn on her forehead. A perfect replica – _hopefully_ a replica – of a unicorn's horn.

"Thank you", Annalena smiled. "What are you supposed to be?", she asked.

 _The first of many..._ Hermione sighed internally.

"I'm the Queen of the Night."

At Annalena's blank look, she elaborated.

"She's a character of the opera 'the Magic Flute' by Mozart."

"I've never heard of him", Annalena said, in a tone that clearly implied something along the lines of 'are you sure he really exists?'.

"He was a muggle composer of the late 18th Century", Melissa said. "Said to have been a miracle child", she added, as she fully stepped out of the bathroom. "You look nice, both of you."

"Thanks", they answered at the same time.

"So do you, Melissa", Hermione added.

And as much as she hated to admit it, Melissa really _did_ look good. Her chin length blonde hair was in soft curls, playfully surrounding the cat ears on her head. Her dress was knee-length and all black, with complicated patterns stitched on it. Oh, and she had a cat tail. That _moved_. Hermione had actually seen things like that before. Elaborately enchanted costumes like that were something not many people wore, and there was a reason for that.

One, there were only a few people licensed to make them, as it was very complicated to arrange it so the magic wouldn't burn through the cloth and destroy the garment in an inopportune moment. Two, it was very easy to hide malevolent enchantments under the guise of it being a costume, and therefore, every single item had to be checked over by an ICW licensed official and marked as safe, otherwise it would be illegal to sell it.

And three, because of reasons one and two, such costumes were incredibly expensive, and not something many people could reasonably afford. Annoyance was rising in Hermione as Melissa thanked her, and underlined it with a graceful wave of her tail. She didn't even think she was jealous, as she absolutely loved the dress she wore, and was infinitely more proud of it than she could be of anything purchased, but it was just the principle of the thing.

This wasn't even an important public event or anything, where such an action might affect public opinion, especially as Melissa was muggleborn, but it was a closed party, at school, with no outside guests – presumably, one never could know for sure where Slughorn was concerned – and anyone she might meet would be a fellow student who had seen her in her regular school uniform often enough. It was just ridiculous, period.

"Thanks", Melissa smiled.

Then, she linked her arms with both Annalena and Hermione, and started walking towards the door.

"Let's go!", she exclaimed excitedly.

Hermione didn't really have much choice but to follow. She also noted that neither of the other two girls had said goodbye to the only girl in their dorm that wasn't invited. Lisa she thought her name was. Melissa continued prattling about how great the party was going to be and the people probably attending, and Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes. Some kind of friends they were. Completely ignoring the other girl, just because she hadn't been invited to some stupid exclusive party gathering thing.

True, Hermione hadn't paid her much mind either, but at least she wasn't pretending to be friends with her. They were walking down the stairs of the Common Room now, and Hermione couldn't help a smile starting to spread as her eyes fell on her date for the night. He wore elegant but simple black robes with a black trim that reflected silver. It was the exact same fabric that part of her dress was made of, and she had sewn it on herself. Not that she had told him beforehand. Just lying in his trunk, he wouldn't have noticed a difference anyway, and she supposed it made for a nice surprise.

Gently but firmly, Hermione freed her arm from Melissa's hold and walked towards Gideon. He held his hand out to her and when she placed hers on his palm, he lifted it up and brushed the back of it with his lips. The touch was so light, Hermione almost didn't feel it, and as she rose from the courtesy she had sunk into as he had taken her hand in his, she smiled up at him. She hadn't been able to hide her worry when she had gotten Slughorn's invitation, so of course Gideon noticed. And came to a completely wrong conclusion. He had offered to be her date for the evening in such a way, though, that Hermione couldn't do anything but accept. And now that they were here, she was glad she did, even though it would make things more complicated.

"You look rather fetching in those robes, I have to admit", she said.

"Well, I would certainly hope you think so", Gideon replied with a twinkle in his eyes. "After all, it was not at my initiative that they were modified."

"I'm sorry?", Hermione offered, though she wasn't at all sincere in her apology.

Their outfits needed to be tied together _somehow_ , and unfortunately, wizard's clothing had far less options of successfully doing that without it looking ridiculous.

"You're not", Gideon chuckled. "It's alright, though. I like it."

Hermione mock-scowled at him.

"You better do. I did this by hand, you know."

"If by 'by hand' you mean 'by magic', then sure."

He raised his arm and held it out to the side. Almost automatically, Hermione's hand slid up to settle in the crook of his elbow. Then, Gideon bowed at her.

"My lady, I would be most honoured of you would allow me to escort you to this friendly congregation held in the spirit of Samhain, if not on the day itself."

Hermione giggled and lightly hit his arm.

"Stop it, prat."

"If you so desire, my lady", Gideon replied with a tilt of his head.

Instead of an answer, Hermione strode forward through the portrait hole, pulling Gideon with her.

"You know that _I'm_ supposed to be escorting _you_ and not the other way around, right?"

"I know", Hermione said.

The _I don't care_ was heard clearly between them, even though she didn't explicitly say it. Gideon only laughed. In front of them were Melissa and Annalena, both with their respective dates, completely ignoring Hermione and Gideon.

"Is your brother angry that he's not going?", Hermione asked after a few minutes.

"Not at all", Gideon replied. "He doesn't care about this kind of thing, not really. Also, he says he sees enough of Slughorn in Potions."

"True", Hermione said.

They passed the rest of the way in companionable silence, that was only broken by the talking of the two couples in front of them. The nearer they got to Slughorn's office, however, the louder it got. His door was open, and there were already many people there, all laughing and talking and exchanging greetings.

"Come in, come in!"

Slughorn was standing at the entrance, waving to the Gryffindors and smiling jovially. Hermione had to admit that the office looked great. Bats and pumpkins were floating in the air, and the whole room had a friendly yet somewhat spooky atmosphere. Also, there were probably quite a few extension charms on it, to be able to hold so many people without it getting uncomfortably claustrophobic.

It didn't change the fact that the air was heavy with the smell of food, and it was extremely warm in the room. For just a moment, Hermione regretted her long sleeves, but they were necessary, and they looked good.

"So, where to first", Gideon asked.

As an answer, Hermione shrugged.

"I have no clue. Most of the people here I don't even know by name. It's my first time attending one of these things as well, you know."

"It is?", Gideon said surprised. "You've been getting invited for at least two years straight before this."

"Doesn't mean I actually accepted the invitations."

Gideon laughed.

"Only you!"

"Only I what?"

"Only you would turn down a perfect opportunity to network and connect with other promising students for no apparent reason."

"There _is_ a reason", Hermione defended herself. "I don't want recognition for just my family name. I want it for what I actually did."

"Alright", Gideon replied. "I can understand that. But what changed?"

Yes, outwardly, what did change? It wasn't like she acted like she _wanted_ to be there. Okay, maybe she _did_ want to be there in reality, but not because of the party or networking opportunities. And nobody knew about that. And it wasn't exactly something she could tell Gideon, either.

"My OWLs", Hermione said instead.

"What about them?", Gideon asked. "I know you took them later, but what has that to do with anything?"

"I had near perfect scores", Hermione said.

"Not bad", he said, sounding impressed. "And you think that's why Slughorn invited you this time?"

Hermione laughed dryly.

"No. Slughorn invited me for the same reason he always has. My parents and my last name. _And_ my grades to a certain extent, I suppose."

Gideon had a slightly contemplative look on his face, before he asked his next question.

"Okay, so why did you _really_ come?"

Hermione's expression must have given something away, because Gideon continued.

"Don't give me that look. It's basic logic. You just told me you didn't go before because you didn't want to be here only because of your name. And then you proceeded to tell me that essentially, nothing of that circumstance has changed, and yet here we are."

What was she supposed to say now? She couldn't tell him the truth, but she also had no lie prepared. _Why do you_ have _to lie to him?,_ a voice inside her asked. _You can tell him about looking for Andromeda without telling him about everything else. The debt between our Houses it probably common knowledge anyways._

"Let's go sit down", Hermione said and steered Gideon and herself to a corner where there was a low table and five armchairs around it.

"That bad? You don't _have_ to tell me, you know", Gideon said as they were walking. "I was just curious."

For a moment, Hermione was tempted to take the out, but then she reminded herself that she couldn't always do everything by herself, and it really wouldn't do any harm.

"No, it's alright", she said as they sat down.

Then, she surreptitiously cast a wandless Muffliato around them. She felt only slightly bad for using a spell that technically didn't even exist yet.

"I was hoping Andromeda would be here", she said.

"Black?", Gideon asked surprised. "Sister of our Black, Fourth year, Slytherin?"

Hermione nodded.

"Why?" Hermione sighed.

"She saved my life, last summer", she said.

"Wait... you mean when you were in the Hospital Wing for months?"

"Yes. It's only because of her that I survived."

"So you owe her a Life Debt?"

"Not exactly", Hermione said. "It was Formalized in the summer, so House Potter owes a Life Debt to House Black."

"Okay", Gideon replied. "So why do you want to find Andromeda?"

"After the Formalizing ceremony, we started exchanging letters over the summer. And I felt like we were starting to become friends. She's really nice, you know."

Gideon looked a bit disbelieving at that, but Hermione let it go. When the most prominent example one had of what a Black behaved like was Bellatrix, 'nice' was about as far away as one could get from the reality.

"Anyways, on the day of the Opening Feast, she sent me a letter basically saying we couldn't be friends because of the Debt and because of our Houses here at school. It wasn't 'meant to be'."

Hermione could help her sneer at those last three words. Nothing was _ever_ 'meant to be'.

"I take it you want to tell her that's bullshit?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows at the curse word, but still nodded.

"Essentially. She's successfully avoided me for almost two months now. But I'm hoping that she can't run away here. It wouldn't look good, you see, and it has become painfully obvious to me how much appearances are worth to her."

"But, you don't actually _know_ she's here, do you?", Gideon pointed out.

"True", Hermione admitted. "However, she's a _Black_."

Gideon laughed.

"True. So, what do you want to do until she turns up?"

Hermione shrugged.

"I don't know. Sit here, watch people. Possibly continue talking to you, if you're up to it."

"Sounds good", Gideon said.

Hermione smiled at him, and cancelled the spell around them. It didn't seem necessary anymore, and it would be suspicious if nobody would be able to understand what they were saying for the whole evening. After a short bout of silence, Gideon was the first one to speak up.

"Okay, look. I'm really sorry I have to ask, but what are you going as?"

"I could ask you the same thing", Hermione said, her eyes laughing. "Black robes alone don't much inspire anything at all, do they?"

"You've got me there", Gideon replied. "May I point out, however, that thanks to you they aren't completely black anymore?"

"Oh, wow", Hermione rolled her eyes. "That doesn't count, and you know it."

"Don't distract from the question at hand", Gideon said. "What are you?"

At Hermione's look, he quickly elaborated.

"Costume-wise I mean, of course."

Hermione laughed.

"The Queen of the Night", she said in a dramatic voice.

Gideon smirked back at her.

"Well, then I guess you've made it easy for me. I'm the King of the Night."

"The Kind of the Night doesn't exist, though", Hermione pointed out.

"Neither does the Queen of the Night, so I'm in the clear."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Gideon.

"The Queen of the Night _does_ exist. Just because you've never heard of her..."

"Wait, so you mean she's like, a real person?"

" _No_ ", Hermione said emphatically. "She's a character. From the Magic Flute."

"So, there's a magical flute that when you play it spits out a Queen of the Night? Like a Genie? What kinds of power does she have?"

"What? No! It's a very well known Muggle opera of the late 17th century. Genies actually exist?"

"Of course Genies exist", a disdainful voice answered Hermione's question from behind her.

Turning around, she saw none other than Bellatrix Black standing there, smiling condescendingly down on her, a seer on her face. It was quite the impressive combination, Hermione had to admit, especially because she managed to still look stunning.

Her black curls were piled high up on her head, a few strands framing her face, her skin was even paler than usual, her lips even redder and her eyes darker, accentuated by the dark makeup around them. Also, she had fangs.

"They are mainly found in oriental countries such as India, however they can be imported to other countries. Here in Britain they are restricted, after an incident that occurred almost five hundred years ago, where a wizard brought one back from his travels and made a lot of not exactly well-worded wish to always have enough money, which caused the second to last goblin rebellion to break out, after the peace treaty of then only five decades earlier was broken."

Spoken had the boy standing next to Bellatrix that Hermione had not noticed before. _He certainly falls into the dark-tall-handsome category_ , she thought. He was about a head taller than herself, and about one and a half heads taller than Bellatrix. He had dark hair and pale skin, and was both wearing dark makeup around his eyes and a pair of fangs in his mouth, like Bellatrix.

It was obvious they had come together. Hermione didn't think he was in their year, however, as she had never noticed him before. She guessed he was Rodolphus Lestrange, considering the whole betrothal contract thing that was apparently still happening in the Wizarding World, but she couldn't be sure.

Also, she wanted nothing to do with him. At all. Looking at him, it was hard to see the person he would become. Harder than with anyone else she had encountered so far that she had known in her other life.

"I don't think she cares", Bellatrix said. "As is embarrassingly clear to see, she doesn't care to be well educated. A shame, really."

"Excuse me?", Hermione said. "I take my education very seriously, thank you very much. My grades are just as good as yours are-" _except in practical defence, where I deliberately hold back-_ "and as has been obvious to me for _years_ , my education is definitely more well rounded than that of most other people here."

"You mean that muggle riff-raff?", probably Lestrange asked.

"It's not _riff-raff_ ", Hermione said incensed. "It's _culture_."

"Whatever you say", Bellatrix waved her off.

Hermione thought she could detect a spark of amusement in her eyes, which made her anger only flare up more. A hand on her thigh gave her enough pause to calm down, and not start hexing the pair. It wouldn't have been an appropriate response at all, and would have ruined the whole evening. And she still had a mission to accomplish.

She sent a thankful smile in Gideon's direction, before changing course.

"At least my costume isn't as uninspired as yours are", she said. "Vampires, really? How much more clichéd could you get?"

Bellatrix cackled softly at that.

"Not much, probably", she admitted. "I thought it rather fitting though this year, considering whom the Headmaster has decided to... _employ_."

Was she alluding to Professor Mercer? Or was there another new Professor this year? Hermione didn't think so. As far as she could remember, their DADA Professor had been the only new addition to the staff that had been announced at the Welcoming Feast. Would Dumbledore really hire a Vampire, though? This early in the game, if one wanted to put it that way? The curse couldn't have been in effect for that long, so theoretically, he shouldn't have had any problems finding people to fill the post yet. A riddle for another day, she supposed.

"If you say so", Hermione only replied, then silently dismissed the two by turning back around to Gideon.

"Sorry about that", she said.

Internally, however, she was smiling. For the first time, she had gotten the last word in an interaction with Bellatrix. And she had to admit, it felt good.

"No problem at all", Gideon said. "Compared to first year, this was nothing."

And again, an allusion to a life she couldn't remember.

"And thanks for keeping me from hexing them", she added. "I don't know why, but she just brings out the worst in me."

"You're welcome", Gideon replied. "You're sure her sister is different? It's easy to pretend in letters."

"I'm sure", Hermione said with conviction. "I did actually meet her, you know, at the Ceremony. She's different."

As proven by her future.

"I'll have to take your word for it. I _did_ think than if one of them would be different, it would be the youngest, though."

"Narcissa?", Hermione asked surprised. "Why?"

She had married a Malfoy, and even though she had helped them in the end, it had been for her son alone, not because she actually was sorry for her actions or inactions.

"Don't you remember? There've been rumours about her possible illegitimacy ever since she's been Introduced five years ago."

"I've never paid much attention to rumours", she replied.

"I guess you wouldn't have", he said. "You really don't seem like the type. Neither am I, as a matter of fact. My sister, though, she is very much one to gossip. So, I couldn't really _not_ notice."

Considering the rumours Molly had believed about her, written by none other than Rita Skeeter, Hermione could certainly see that.

"Care to enlighten me on the facts?", she jokingly asked, even though she genuinely _did_ want to know.

"Not much to it, really. Narcissa is blonde, whereas most other Blacks have dark hair. She has straight hair, where they have curls. She had blue eyes where they have traditionally brown or grey ones. And she isn't named after a star or constellation, as is Family tradition. That last one is probably the most decisive factor, considering that Cassiopeia Black is also blonde. There's something in her magic that makes it so."

 _Albinism?_ , Hermione wondered. _Or maybe some other genetic mutation._ It would certainly be possible.

"Added to that, the Parkinsons have both traditionally light hair and name their children after flowers and plants, and there you have it."

"Well, is there any truth to it?", Hermione asked.

"In my opinion, not really. I can't really explain the name thing, but I'm reasonably sure Narcissa Black just has the same condition Cassiopeia Black has. Maybe her parents weren't sure she was legitimate, and that's why they refused to give her a 'Black' name, or maybe they wanted her to be set apart from her sisters. I don't know, and honestly, I also don't care."

"I don't really either", Hermione said. "I was just curious."

After a moment of silence, she spoke up again.

"Do you want to get something to eat?"

"Sure."

They got both up and walked to the buffet at the other end of the room, where several other people were already filling their plates. In the middle of the office was a big round table, around which you could sit down to eat. Slughorn was there, talking to some boys that Hermione would probably put in fifth year and their dates. Out of the corner of her eye, she also spotted Annalena in her ridiculous dress, standing together with Melissa and another girl Hermione didn't know, their dates nowhere to be seen. Oh, wait, that wasn't true. She had just spotted them at the buffet.

"Is the food any good?", Gideon asked them as they came closer.

"Very good", one of the boys replied.

"That's a relief", Gideon joked. "Probably the only good thing to come out of this."

"Or, to be expected", the second boy said.

Hermione had to do a double take before she recognized him as Johnson. They hadn't really had many interactions, but he was a fellow Prefect and they were in the same year, so it was kind of hard to not know his name.

"Still sore you didn't get an invitation in your own right, Johnson?", the other boy asked.

"Don't be stupid, Ward", Johnson answered. "Like the good food, it was to be expected."

Then, he turned to Gideon.

"Where's your brother?" Gideon just smirked.

"Wasn't invited."

"I find it hard to imagine old Sluggy would invite one of you but not the other", Ward said.

Hermione chuckled. They hadn't even noticed her presence yet.

"You misunderstand, my friends", Gideon replied. "I wasn't invited either. I'm only here as the companion of a fine young lady who was."

"She left you behind as well, then?", Ward asked, looking a little brighter at the thought.

Apparently, that was where his obvious bad mood stemmed from.

"Not exactly", Hermione stepped forward.

"Potter?", Ward asked incredulously.

Hermione just shrugged.

"Since when do you attend these things?", Johnson asked her.

"Since I want something I can probably get only here", she replied.

"What's that?", Ward asked.

"None of your business", Hermione said shortly.

She really didn't like that boy, for some reason.

"Does _he_ know?", he jabbed his finger at Gideon.

"Is that important?", Hermione said.

"Well, yes", Ward answered. "If you share with him, why not me?"

"Because I don't know you?"

"We slept together", Ward said. "I still dream about it, you know. You under me, moaning my name. 'Oh, Connor, yes, just like that!'"

He didn't get further than that before Hermione silenced him. Then, she advanced until their faces were only inches apart.

"You listen to me, Connor Ward, and listen clearly, because I'm not going to repeat myself. This is neither the time nor the place for this conversation. If you want to have it, by all means, go ahead. But, not here and not now. We're in polite company, and while that may not mean not much to you, it does to me. You knew _exactly_ what you were getting into the moment it started, so don't you dare lay any blame whatsoever on me that things didn't turn out the way you wanted them to. No wonder you got left behind by your date. Now, get your head out of your arse and start acting the age you are. Understood?"

Ward only nodded silently. Not that he could do much with his voice still missing.

"Good", Hermione said, stepped back and released the spell on him.

Then, she passed him by and started to pile food on her plate, before sitting down at the round table reserved for eating. Not long after that, both Gideon and Johnson sat down at either side of her. Luckily, their little altercation had gone mostly unnoticed, even though it _had_ happened right at the buffet, so they weren't paid any particular attention.

"That was _scary_ ", Gideon said impressed.

"Was it?", Hermione asked. "I didn't much think about it, to be honest. It just came out."

"One more reason to not get on your bad side", Johnson said. "I'm just hoping that as a fellow Prefect, you'll give me a little more leeway."

Hermione sent him a look that said everything.

"You know I won't."

He shrugged.

"Luckily, I'm generally well-behaved."

"That sounds like you're talking about a dog", Gideon laughed.

"I'm not gonna deign that with a reply", Johnson said.

"You _do_ realize that by saying that, you went back on your own word as you were giving it?"

In response to that, he rolled his eyes at Hermione.

"Don't be such a know-it-all, would you?", he said, but without any venom or malice in his words.

"I'll try and hold back as much as I can", Hermione chuckled.

"Good luck with that."

* * *

"Can I leave you here for a moment?", Hermione asked Gideon and without even waiting for an answer whirled around and followed the glimpse of curly black hair she had seen exiting the room.

She knew it was Andromeda. Ever since she had spotted her after Slughorn had held his little 'speech' about how glad he was everyone was there and enjoying themselves, Hermione had kept an eye on her. And it had paid off. For all that Slughorn actually wasn't that bad of a host, he didn't have restrooms in his office.

Hermione followed Andromeda closely, taking care that she wouldn't be spotted, and waited at the door. A minute or so later, she exited the restroom, and though Hermione regretted it was necessary, she silently stunned Andromeda and then cast a cushioning charm on the floor before she could hurt herself by falling down.

She didn't take her far, only to the next classroom, and put up wards before preventively casting a shield charm and reviving Andromeda. Which proved to have been a good decision, judging by the freezing curse Andromeda immediately threw at her. That would have been painful, had it hit. And cold.

Luckily Andromeda lowered her wand before she had to retaliate. She had wanted this to be a conversation, not a duel.

"What do you want?", Andromeda asked, suspicion clear in her voice.

Alright, so maybe essentially abducting her hadn't been the smartest of all strategies, but it was now too late for that anyway, wasn't it?

"I wanted to talk."

"You could have done that without the whole knocking me out thing."

"I wanted to be sure you would listen to me, and for that I had to get you alone."

"And you believe after assaulting me you will have a better chance at talking than if you had just walked up to me like a regular person?"

"Well, yes. That's why I did it."

Andromeda laughed at that.

"You're lucky I'm in a fairly good mood. Get to the point and I won't press charges."

 _What happened to the girl I met in the summer?_ , Hermione thought. _She's so different now. Cold and calculating._ She had come with the intention to talk, however, so that's what she would do.

"Why have you been avoiding me? I don't buy the whole politics stuff."

"What does it matter?"

"When we talked, after the Formalization, you weren't this cold."

"Again, what does it matter? What's it to _you_ , anyway? You have every reason to hate me."

"Do I?", Hermione asked surprised. "I'm sure I've said it before, and if I haven't, I'll say it now. You are not your sister. It doesn't matter how much I like or dislike her, that doesn't automatically extend to you. You might look like twins, but you aren't the same person. I know you are different. And I think you want to be friends with me. You could have just ignored me reaching out, but you didn't."

"But I should have", Andromeda whispered.

All the coldness had drained away from her expression, and Hermione could finally see beyond the mask to the person she had seen that very first time they had met, the person she knew Andromeda would become.

"Why?", Hermione asked softly. "And don't tell me it's because I'm a Gryffindor, or a Potter", she added before Andromeda had time to respond.

"I-"

It was clear to see that she was struggling with something. And dammit, Hermione desperately wanted to help, but she didn't know _how_. She couldn't even begin to understand what was going through Andromeda's head right now.

"It's because of Bella, alright?", she burst out after several minutes of tense silence.

"Bellatrix?", Hermione asked to clarify, even though she was sure she had understood correctly.

"Yes. She has this... I don't know, _obsession_ with you. And, I mean, I love her, she's my sister, of course I love her, but... she's powerful. And she knows it. And she can be scary. I mean, not that I'm afraid of her or anything, but..."

Hermione was dumbstruck. Andromeda's rambling didn't really explain anything, but then at the same time, it explained so much. Bellatrix Black and Hermione Potter had a history, she'd known that much, but it seemed to reach deeper than some sort of school-girl rivalry. And while Hermione had no idea what to do with that kind of information, it had obviously resulted in Andromeda being afraid of the repercussions of their friendship.

Handed out by her own sister.

If she had read between the lines correctly, that is.

 _It's a good thing_ , a part of Hermione's mind whispered. _The sooner she realized what Bellatrix really is, the easier it will be for her to renounce her Family._ Her heart wasn't in it, however. Andromeda loved her sister, and even if it would make things so much harder for her later on,

Hermione couldn't find it in herself to make Andromeda choose. Choose between her family, the people she had been closest to her whole life, or a girl she didn't even really know, a girl she had exchanged a few letters with over the summer. It would be a choice, that much Hermione was sure of, because Bellatrix didn't seem like someone open to compromises.

And, she admitted to herself, it wasn't only because she didn't want to force Andromeda to choose. No, she was afraid Andromeda would choose Bellatrix over her.

"Am I right in the assumption that Bellatrix would rather we weren't friends?"

Andromeda nodded.

Hermione sighed. Andromeda had found her way once already, without her influence. She had hoped she could maybe make it easier, but so far, it seemed she had only made it worse. It looked like the best course of action would be to step back and let things work themselves out.

"Then I will refrain from acting as such", Hermione simply said.

ust like that?", Andromeda asked astonished.

"Just like that", Hermione confirmed. "I won't ever make you choose between your family and myself."

Then, she turned around and cancelled the wards protecting the room.

"I think we better get back to the party. And I'm sorry for stunning you. I didn't think I could make this conversation happen otherwise."

"It's alright, no hard feelings", Andromeda replied with a small smile. "I don't think you would have been able to get a hold of me any other way, to be honest. I _was_ avoiding you."

"Well, then...", Hermione trailed off. "If you ever _do_ need my help, I'll do my best to be there for you."

"Thank you", Andromeda said softly.

Laughter and talking could be heard coming from ahead of them, and Hermione suddenly stopped walking.

"What?", Andromeda asked, once she noticed Hermione wasn't beside her anymore.

"You go ahead, I'll wait here for a bit. It wouldn't do for us to be seen together, now would it?"

A small chuckle and a smile was the only answer Hermione got before Andromeda turned around and walked off. Hermione could feel her masks sliding on even without seeing her face, just from the way the other witch carried herself. It saddened her to see it was necessary, but ultimately, she knew she had made the right decision.

Andromeda might have been different from her sisters, but she was also a fourteen-year-old girl. Things would work themselves out in due time. And if they didn't, Hermione could still interfere, right?

* * *

 **At long last, a new chapter. Unfortunately, I cannot promise the update speed to pick up again anytime soon. Too much to do and too little time to do it...**

 **If you have anything to say at all, thoughts, comments, reactions, please leave me a review! They always make me happy :)**


	15. Interlude IV

**Interlude IV**

* * *

Andromeda was excited. It was the 1st of September, and today, they would be going back to Hogwarts.

The holidays had been different this year. A good different though. She had befriended Hermione Potter, or at least she thought she had. She still couldn't believe that Hermione saw something worthwhile in her, that she would actually keep the communication up that she had seemingly not started of her own free will, but rather duty.

Andromeda was looking forward to seeing her, talking to her in person, but she was also afraid. Not of the things an outsider would think, though. She wasn't afraid of the whispers and glances that would follow her when she was seen talking to a Gryffindor, of being ostracised by her House for 'fraternizing with the enemy', even though the very first thing she and her fellow First Years were told after their first Welcoming Feast three years ago was that Slytherin House would keep to itself.

Slytherin House would also stick together, and considering who she was, they would almost assuredly take her side in any arising conflict.

No, what Andromeda was worried about was that once they were talking face to face, they wouldn't have anything in common anymore. She had done her best to walk that fine line between being honest and being likeable, but ultimately, the truth was that she wasn't a very nice person. She felt like none of the Blacks were.

Not that that helped any.

Hermione had said she wouldn't judge her for who her sister was, but saying it and actually doing it were two decidedly different things. When they had talked for that short moment after the Formalization, Andromeda had noticed what she called her mask slipping for the first time in years. It had frightened her, but thinking back, she couldn't help but notice how liberating it had felt. In the letters, she had taken care to project an image she thought appealing, and generally, she wouldn't be worried about keeping it up.

This was different, however. The thing was, she didn't _want_ to keep the mask up. With Hermione, she wanted to be herself, the way she couldn't be with anyone anymore, like it used to be with Bella and Cissy, before Bella's 'special-ness' was confirmed on her thirteenth birthday. No, Andromeda didn't begrudge her older sister the talents she had, not did she begrudge Narcissa her looks. She knew they both came with a price, one she didn't think she would want to pay if she had the choice.

The point was, however, that for close to four years, she had worn her mask almost continuously, only letting it down in the security of watching the sun go up, alone, and Hermione had made her notice how exhausting it was. Andromeda wasn't sure if she was ready to take that risk, though. Could she let down her mask, be herself around this person she had looked up to for years, but ultimately didn't know at all, show her who she really was, all her fears and doubts and the darkness below the surface, and trust that she wouldn't turn her away?

The truth was, she couldn't. And she was afraid that either, she would do it anyway, or she wouldn't, and lose her chance.

By the time she had settled into an empty compartment towards the end of the train, she had once again arrived at the same conclusion as the last twenty or so times she had brooded over this. She would just take things as they came, and in the worst case scenario, she knew she could make it go away. She didn't want to, but she knew she could, if push came to shove.

Not that she hadn't tried to find another way, as proven by the fact that she hadn't really thought about anything else in the past few weeks.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by other people entering her compartment, and her mask slid into place effortlessly.

"Hey, Andromeda. How were your holidays?", Michelle Travers asked.

"Enjoyable, as always", Andromeda replied smoothly.

"How about you?"

"The same", her fellow Slytherin said. "Do you know where Diana and Amanda are?"

"I'm here", Amanda Rosier waved from the door before entering the compartment.

"And I just saw Diana, her little brother is starting this year, so she has to sit with him, at least at the beginning. You know how it is."

Humming her agreement, Andromeda remembered how Bella had sat with her on her first train ride, talking to her and calming her nerves. And then, only one year ago, all three of them had been together, talking and laughing for hours. For a moment, she wondered how Cissy was faring, if she was alright, but then reminded herself that her little sister was fine. She could take care of herself, and she wasn't nearly as fragile as she often appeared.

The chatter of the two girls next to her served well enough to distract her from her morose thoughts and worries, and she even managed to take an active part in the conversation, however small it might have been. Of course, when Diana Fawley joined them, the last of her dorm mates, some of the stories were inevitably repeated.

The three girls were the closest Andromeda had to real friends, and just sitting there, listening and silently comparing their quiet boasts of wealth and status to the letters she had shared with Hermione, made it painfully obvious how fake it all was. Andromeda realized not for the first time that she didn't trust them, but for the first time, it caused a small twinge in her chest to think about it. She already trusted Hermione more than them, even though she had spent three years in close quarters with her dorm mates and only exchanged letters with Hermione for a few weeks.

And while it hurt, it also frightened her; how fast she had started putting her trust in someone she didn't actually know. And she was back at the start.

 _Great._

She wanted to get away, to be alone and think things over, but wasn't that what she had been doing already? Evidently, it hadn't been met with much success. It was time to change strategies, Andromeda supposed.

 _Talking about it almost always helps_ , her sister's words echoed in her mind. _It puts it out in the open and lets you see things form a different perspective._

Andromeda smiled to herself as she remembered the scene. It had been after one of Bella's rages, before any of them had gone to Hogwarts. Cissy had only been six years old, but already she had had more control than Bella. The room had been completely in shambles, no piece of furniture had been left intact. And whereas she had been completely dumbfounded herself, frozen to the spot, Cissy had gone to Bella, sat down beside her in the rubble she had caused, and spoken those words.

Bella hadn't opened up, of course, but that memory had always stuck with Andromeda. And while the circumstances were completely different, the advice still rang true. Only, whom could she talk to? Cissy was a good listener, but she was also a lot closer to Bella than Andromeda was. And Bella hated Hermione. Her parents wouldn't understand, and neither would her dorm mates.

She was ripped out of her thoughts by the compartment door slamming open.

"Andromeda."

 _Shit._

At the door stood none other than Bellatrix, a smile on her face that didn't reach her narrowed eyes. Bella never called her by her full name. Ever. Whatever this was, it was bad. And she did _not_ want it playing out in front of an audience.

The moment she rose from her seat, Bella snatched her arm, her grip so tight it was cutting off her circulation in Andromeda's left hand. The other three girls in the compartment were thankfully smart enough to keep quiet, even as she was dragged out through the door and along the aisle. A part of her wanted to protest the harsh treatment she was getting, especially since she didn't even know why, but one glance at Bellatrix had her words stuck in her throat.

With every step they were taking, Bella's control slipped further. Andromeda had always known her sister was volatile, and it had only gotten worse after her thirteenth birthday, but she had never been at the receiving end of one of her episodes as directly as she would be now. She and Cissy had always been the ones picking up the pieces, not the ones responsible for the breaking, however indirect.

 _Not this time_ , Andromeda thought dryly, immediately followed by _But what have I done?_

She needed to figure this out, and quickly. Not knowing what was wrong would inevitably make things worse, that much was sure. And 'worse' would not be good for the train they were on right now, not to mention the passengers on it.

They reached one of the restrooms, and before Andromeda could protest, Bellatrix squeezed the both if them in there and locked the door.

"Care to explain?", she hissed, while holding up a piece of parchment.

 _Wha- Shit!_ , flashed through Andromeda's mind the second she recognized Hermione's handwriting.

"Have you been going through my things?", she asked incensed.

That was the only way Bellatrix would have gotten her hands on that letter. Andromeda wasn't stupid enough to leave stuff like that lying around openly.

"So what?", Bellatrix spoke furiously. "This-", she gestured wildly with the hand holding the parchment, "This is _unacceptable_."

Her sister was looking at her expectantly now, obviously expecting a response, an explanation that would only make her blow up more. Andromeda stayed quiet.

"You're going to break off contact immediately, do you understand?"

Indignation arose in her at hearing those words.

"I will not", she said, her voice strong.

"You will!"

Bellatrix had come even closer now, trapping Andromeda between the sink and the wall. Magic was pressing against her, suffocating her and making the small room seem even more crowded.

"You will", Bella repeated, "or you will regret the consequences."

A small shudder went down Andromeda's back.

 _I am not afraid_ , she told herself. _I will_ never _be afraid of my own sister!_

The truth was, however, that Andromeda knew what Bella was capable of, and as much as she loved her family, should be become completely unhinged, it wouldn't matter. Probably. She didn't think she was brave enough – or stupid enough – to want to take that risk.

Still...

"You would never hurt me", she said. "And why does it matter that much to you anyway? It has nothing to do with you."

"It has _everything_ to do with me", Bellatrix seethed.

"You hate Hermione!", Andromeda exclaimed at the same time as Bellatrix whispered angrily in her ear.

"She. Is. _Mine!_ "

Andromeda was completely taken aback by that statement. Her mind was blank, try as she might, she couldn't come up with a retort. It just... _didn't make sense. At all!_ She was shaken out of her state by the pressure of her sister's wand against her neck. She froze. This was serious.

"Be glad you are my sister, Andromeda, otherwise you wouldn't be in nearly as unharmed as you are. She is _mine!_ "

"But... you hate her", Andromeda breathed feebly.

Bellatrix looked at her like she was being exceptionally stupid right now.

"So?!"

Andromeda still didn't get it, but resolved to let it go, for now.

"I'll talk to her", she conceded.

Instead of getting Bellatrix to back off, however, it had the opposite effect.

" _No_ , you will not."

"Then what do I do?"

She was giving her best to not sound affected, even though at this point, all she wanted was to curl down in her bed and cry. Bellatrix treating her this way, threatening her, it _hurt._ So, so much.

"You go back to my compartment with me, you take a piece of parchment and a quill, you write her a letter and send it to her with Amberly."

 _Don't let her boss you around like that_ , a voice inside her head said. _Speak up for yourself, fight for what you want!_ But the truth was, in that moment she was a little girl, scared and alone, and she wasn't ready to give up her sister for someone she didn't actually know all that well.

A tiny part of her was even glad that now she didn't have to make a decision on how to treat Hermione. She could just avoid her and she didn't even have to feel bad about it. She could just blame Bellatrix.

So, Andromeda nodded. Bella held her eyes for a moment, before she hugged her tightly. Confused, but glad that things seemed to be fine again, she squeezed her sister tightly. The air around them was still saturated with magic, but where it had been cackling with held-back aggression before, it was now floating peacefully. As peaceful as anything could be concerning Bellatrix, that is.

As suddenly as the hug had started Bellatrix pulled away and took hold of Andromeda's wrist, her wand still in her hand. She spelled open the door and forced Andromeda to walk beside her. They passed her original department all the way back to the end of the train, where Bella had reserved a compartment more or less for herself.

There were people in there, most notably Rodolphus Lestrange, Bella's betrothed, his brother and some of their friends, but one glare form Bellatrix, and they all stood up and left as quickly as possible. Bellatrix then proceeded to open her trunk and took out a piece of parchment, a quill and some ink. She held it out to Andromeda with a one-word command.

"Write."

Slowly, Andromeda opened the ink bottle and dipped the quill into it. _Dear Hermione_ , she wrote, before drawing up on a blank. She knew what she had to do, but a part of her was hesitating. She didn't want to hurt Hermione, whom she knew didn't have many other friends, by just outright rejecting her without reason.

Also, there was the chance that if she didn't give a good enough reason, the other girl would persistently try to seek her out, to get an explanation or something like that. Gryffindors in general tended to be a lot more confrontational than the Slytherins Andromeda was used to spending her time with. So, she needed to make up something that would seem reasonable, and didn't implicate Bellatrix.

Andromeda doubted that 'my sister doesn't want us to be friends' would convince Hermione of anything.

"What are you waiting for?", Bellatrix asked irritated.

"Nothing."

 _I know you probably won't be getting this letter before I arrive at Hogwarts myself, but I wanted to tell you that, for appearance's sake, we won't be able to just talk to each other in person like we do now in our letters_.

Andromeda wrote those words slowly, hesitatingly, but when she finished the sentence and read over it once again, she supposed it was alright. Even if it wasn't, she didn't have the time to do a hundred different drafts of this. Whatever it was she put in that letter, it would be sent, and before they reached the castle, Bellatrix would make sure of that. Now, to soften the blow...

 _I like you, or at least the person I got to know over the last few weeks through this exchange of letters, but you know as well as I do that there has always been tension between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Add to that who my family is, who your family is and how because of the Debt there is even more tension than usual, and I think you get the overall picture._

What she had written was, frankly, bullshit, and Andromeda knew it. She could only hope that Hermione wouldn't recognize it as such. Realistically, she probably would, though. Lacking etiquette training or no, Hermione was both smart and two years older than her. Andromeda just didn't have any other ideas at the moment, and there was no time to come up with something better, if that even existed.

 _I'm sorry about this, and I would love to add you to the – admittedly short – list of my friends, but it probably just wasn't meant to be._

There. She didn't like it, but at least it implied that it hadn't been her decision to break their budding friendship off. If anything, she hoped Hermione would pick up on it and not hate her. On the other hand, maybe it was better if she did blame Andromeda. At least then, she would keep her distance. Not that she even wanted her to keep her distance, necessarily.

But Bella wanted it, and Bella was family. And Bellatrix didn't only just hate Hermione. She was obsessed with her. The kind of obsessive hatred that was not only scary, but downright terrifying. Andromeda actually marvelled that she hadn't noticed earlier. But that didn't matter. Family above all, that was the one lesson they had been taught from birth, and Andromeda would abide by it.

"Are you finished?", Bellatrix asked when Andromeda didn't add anything further.

"Yes."

She quickly signed the letter and gave the ink and quill back to her sister, who put it back into her trunk. Then, she held out her hand.

"Give it here."

Andromeda gave her the parchment. A part of her protested against Bellatrix reading what she had written, but she would not be getting in a fight over that. After Bellatrix had scanned her letter, she rolled it up and tied it to her owl's leg. _Their_ owl, actually, but as they had gotten it when Bella had started at Hogwarts, she tended to claim it belonged to her alone. Not that it mattered, as long as they were all allowed to send letters with her, which they could.

They both followed Amberly with their eyes as she was flying ahead of the Express until she vanished on the horizon.

"You stay away from her, understand?", Bellatrix whispered.

"I understand", Andromeda whispered back.

"Promise me." Bellatrix turned her around so their eyes met.

Her expression was unreadable, so unlike what it had been only minutes ago.

"I promise."

What else could she say?

Bellatrix nodded, then let herself fall back onto the seat behind her, looking out of the window, boredom clearly readable on her face. It was a wordless dismissal in a way only her sister could pull off, and Andromeda took the hint and exited the compartment without another sound or comment. On her way back, she came across the group Bellatrix had chased away.

"You can go back now, I think", she said.

The only reply she got was a nod, but they did start moving in the direction she had come from. When she entered the compartment her year-mates were in, they looked at her expectantly. Amanda was the one who finally raised her voice.

"What did you sister want?"

"Oh, nothing, really. It wasn't that important."

Andromeda really hoped it came across as nonchalantly as she wanted it to. She saw Michelle and Amanda exchange a glance. Apparently she hadn't been as successful as she had hoped. Amanda looked at her again, then. Almost unnoticeably, Andromeda shook her head. _Don't ask_.

"Alright then", Amanda said to her great surprise. "Did you see what Harrison is wearing today?"

"I haven't."

"Oh, it's even more horrible than usual", Michelle chimed in.

Andromeda sent a small smile at Amanda, grateful she had picked up on her hint and ceased her questions. She didn't know if it had been a strategic decision, or if she had actually done because she was being friendly and a nice person, but ultimately, Andromeda figured, it didn't really matter.

Those lines were often blurred in Slytherin House. As long as you got what you wanted, you weren't supposed to care.

And Andromeda didn't. Except for that little part of her that did. But that was what family was for, wasn't it? There were no debts in a family, no obligations to reciprocate or repay the help you got. And that was why family was more important than anything else.

 _I made the right decision_ , Andromeda told herself. _I know I did_.

She hoped that if she kept telling herself that, she would start to feel like it, to truly believe it.

 _Toujours pur_ , she thought. _Family above all_.

And don't you ever forget it.

* * *

 **Yes, it's short, and yes, it's probably not what a lot of people wanted. However, this is the only thing I managed to sneak past the writer's block that hit me pretty much square in the face, so yeah... It is what it is.**

 **If you would nonetheless like to tell me what you think, please fell free to leave a review. They do motivate me a lot and always make me happy :)**


	16. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

* * *

The second panic attack happened on Halloween. All had been fine the whole day, but when Hermione entered the Great Hall, and saw all the students, and decorations, the food and drink, she was overwhelmed by memories. All the Halloweens at Hogwarts of the future, all the bad things that had happened. Of Ron, and Harry, and how their lives had once been so carefree, in spite of the dark happenings around them, and how, after it was all over and life should have gotten better, it had only become worse for Hermione.

During the feast, Hermione could feel the attack coming, the memories pushing at her consciousness, threatening to take her away from the present. But, she got through it. Smiling, laughing, flirting with the people around her. Pretending to have fun. It anchored her in reality.

Only for a while, however.

The pressure on her mind had become less as the feast ended, and when she got up and exited the Great Hall, she thought she had avoided it. Then, she had not paid attention for a second. She had bumped into someone. Had instinctively apologized. Looked up. And seen the pair of dark brown eyes, almost black, that still haunted her nightmares from time to time. She had frozen, but only for a second.

Then, she had screamed. Turned around, and ran away.

Somewhere, anywhere.

 _Anywhere._

When she snapped out of it, Hermione was cold, hungry and had no idea where she was. Her joints were stiff, and every slight movement hurt. She was outside, and it was dark. There were rocks around her, and a forest at her back. Not the Forbidden Forest. She would have recognized that. There was no magic in the air. She wasn't on Hogwarts' grounds anymore.

Her recollections were hazy at best. She knew she had been at the Halloween Feast, and that something had triggered another panic attack.

No, not something. Some _one_.

Bellatrix.

She had to go back. There was no telling how many classes she had missed. What day it was. People would have noticed her absence, sooner or later. If she was lucky, it was still Halloween. Or the morning of All Hallows' Day, to be precise.

She had to get up. Apparate to Hogwarts's front gates. Hope that she could get in somehow. Go back to her dormitory and pretend nothing had happened.

Hermione sighed.

One more minute. Then, she would leave.

Her surroundings were calm. A stream was flowing in the distance, and the sky was mostly clear, with only a few clouds obstructing the view on the stars. Hermione didn't know how long she had been sitting there, getting lost in the peacefulness of nature around her. A loud crack came from behind her. A twig breaking, she assumed. It pulled her out of her tranquillity.

Time to go.

Standing up hurt. And once she was upright, she had to hold onto a tree for a few seconds, until the world stopped turning around her, and the black spots obscuring her vision disappeared. It probably wasn't smart to apparate in her situation. There was a very real risk she would splinch herself.

As so often before, however, Hermione didn't really have a choice in the matter. She hated how familiar that feeling was.

 _Alright_ , she thought to herself. _You can do this. Three, two, one... and..._ and Hermione turned on the spot and disappeared.

* * *

She had lost consciousness again.

When Hermione opened her eyes, the sun was just starting to rise. She was lying on the ground, again, and her body was even more sore than before. She had been successful, however, and before her eyes she could see the impressive school gates.

Thinking back, Hermione didn't think she had ever stood before them like she did now. How would she get in? Breaking in wasn't an option. Hogwarts was considered to be one of the most secure places in entire Magical Britain. There was no way she could just slip between the bars, or climb over them, student or not.

So, she had to wait for someone to come and open them for her. Except, who would? No teacher would just accidentally walk down to the gates and see her. And a student even less. So, what to do? She could send a Patronus, true. But whom would she send it to?

Or she could call Tildy. She didn't doubt the little House Elf would be only too happy to assist her, and she would definitely keep it quiet. However, she didn't want to take advantage of her like that. And she wasn't even sure if Tildy had advanced in her training enough to actually be able to follow her request. Besides, Hermione was quite sure there were some kind of regulations in place that forbade students to call on their personal House Elves for whatever it might be.

It seemed like, for lack of better options, a Patronus it was. The only people Hermione could think of sending it to were Professor McGonagall or Madam Pomfrey. She didn't really want to bother either of them. Madam Pomfrey had the advantage of being a Healer, meaning this could possibly fall under her confidentiality oaths. She would have to explain herself for those to be applicable, however, and that would mean Healer Winters coming in and questioning her again, and pushing her to show her scar. And Hermione didn't know if she could deal with that kind of stress now.

So, Professor McGonagall it was. They had sort of started bonding over their chess sessions, so that, combined with the fact that she was Hermione's Head of House would hopefully ensure this whole episode stayed under wraps.

Alright, a good memory. Involuntarily, the first thing that came to mind were her, Harry and Ron, staying up all night chatting, after the troll fiasco. It was the first time she had felt as if everything was going to be all right, and she craved that feeling again. Still sitting in the ground, Hermione raised her wand.

"Expecto Patronum", she whispered. Her throat hurt. Blue tinted white light came out of her wand, and formed, to Hermione's surprise, not the otter she had expected, but a butterfly.

 _Metamorphosis_ , she thought. _It_ is _fitting, I suppose._

She could feel her exhaustion catching up with her more and more, but she wasn't done yet.

"Nuntium Minerva McGonagall", she said clearly. "I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you, Professor, but I'm outside the gates and I was hoping you would maybe let me back in?"

She didn't know what else to say. She wanted to add something, anything, but didn't know _what._

 _Oh well, I'm just gonna leave it, I guess._

It wouldn't do to get caught up in her frustration. There was a spell she had to finish.

"Confectus est. Abi!" Hermione let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding as she watched her Patronus leave. She realized that she hadn't been sure she would be able to cast a spell this complex with her current energy levels. Her eyelids were fluttering as they threatened to fall closed. Hermione knew that if she let that happen, she would inevitably fall asleep. Under the circumstances, probably not the best of ideas.

She didn't know how long she was sitting on the ground, trying her best to stay awake, until she saw a figure approaching from the other side of the gate. No words were exchanged when Professor McGonagall raised her wand to tap the metal bars, and Hermione stood up, dead on her feet, and stumbled onto the school's grounds once again.

Professor McGonagall resealed the gates, and Hermione followed her quietly up to the castle. The sun was only rising, and her breath showed up in front of her because of the cold. She hadn't noticed before, but she also wasn't really freezing. She was too numb, she supposed. It was when they were getting near the castle, the Forbidden Forest and Hagrid's Hut left behind them, that Hermione spoke.

"Thank you." Her voice came out as a whisper.

"Detention", Professor McGonagall answered. "Every day, until Christmas. For now."

Hermione couldn't suppress a shocked gasp. Detention for something like this? It wasn't her fault! Not that it had ever been all the other times she had received extra hours. Still, this was way different. She couldn't even remember what had happened!

"No need to sound so surprised, Miss Potter", Professor McGonagall said shortly.

Damn. Professor McGonagall was angry. Angry enough to not take points, like she did in their first year, but to hand out detention. And mean it.

Hermione hated the feeling that made itself known inside of her. She didn't know how to describe it, didn't even know if there was a word in existence that would fit her situation. She was sad. She had disappointed her Professor, the one she had always looked up to most, and she had screwed up. Probably, by sending that Patronus, she had made it even worse.

And still, she had come and fetched her. When she didn't have to. She could have sent someone else, or just not come. And worst of all, she still didn't know what had even happened! What it was that Professor McGonagall was angry at her for. If it was something she had done. Had she cursed Bellatrix, amongst all those students? Had she hurt someone? Even worse, had she _killed_ someone?

It was certainly within the realm of possibility, loath as she was to admit this, even to herself. She had fought a war. She had _won_ a war. The cold air outside was saturating her body more and more, and squeezing her heart with an icy grip. The uncertainty, the not knowing, the fear of what damage she could have done, it was getting too much. She had to know, but she couldn't ask.

Could she?

It was only when she wrapped her arms around her torso that she noticed she had stopped walking.

"Miss Potter?" Professor McGonagall was several steps ahead of her already.

"What did I do?", Hermione blurted out, and was met with an incredulous look.

"Are you making fun of me, Miss Potter?"

She must have seen something in Hermione's expression, for before Hermione could deny anything, she continued.

"No matter. You ran away, Miss Potter. You screamed, shocked the whole school with your outburst, and before anyone could follow you, you had run away. You were nowhere to be found. The school grounds were empty! We spent the whole night searching for you. Almost all the teachers. The students were scared out of their minds. They think you were possessed or something similar. We worried. _I_ worried, Miss Potter."

Guilt and relief were the primary emotions Hermione felt, battling for dominance. Guilt, for the worry she had caused, for running away, for everything that she had possibly done that Professor McGonagall had left out, and relief that she had not hurt anyone. If she had, the Professor would have mentioned it.

"I'm sorry", Hermione offered in a small voice. "I don't know what came over me."

And how else was she supposed to explain something she herself had no explanation for?

"Follow me to my office, please", Professor McGonagall replied, and they resumed walking.

On the entire way, Hermione's thoughts were churning. What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to _do_? She had never liked not having a plan, and unlike Harry, she never was good at winging it. Except... maybe she was.

Harry was a Potter. How often had he been told that his father had had the same talent of getting in and out of trouble as he did? Could there be any chance that this characteristic applied to her as well? She _was_ a Potter, after all.

Hermione sighed quietly. It seemed like she had to find out the hard way.

* * *

The first thing Professor McGonagall did once they entered her office was place a Floo call. And to Hermione's surprise, it was none other than Healer Winters who came through after a few phrases were exchanged.

"Hello, Miss Potter."

"Hello", Hermione replied, unsure of what the other woman was doing here.

She had expected Professor McGonagall to question her about what happened, why she had acted the way she did, not for a Healer to be specifically called.

"Please, sit down", Professor McGonagall said.

She conjured three comfortable looking armchairs that were all facing each other, in front of her desk. Hermione was beginning to feel even more reluctant concerning the conversation to come. Once they had all settled down, a heavy silence lay between them.

"You know I have to ask", it was finally broken by Professor McGonagall. "What exactly happened? What do you remember?"

"I...", Hermione trailed off.

Looking up into Professor McGonagall's eyes she knew there was no avoiding this.

"The last thing I remember is the Halloween Feast. I just... I don't know... panicked, I guess."

"Do you have any idea why?"

This time it was Healer Winters who had asked the question, her voice soft.

 _Bellatrix_ , Hermione thought. But she didn't want to say it. How would she explain?

"Please, it is important that you are honest with me", Healer Winters added, after Hermione didn't say anything for a while.

Hermione couldn't help her eyes flashing up to Professor McGonagall for just a second. For some reason, she didn't want her to know, a reservation she didn't have with Healer Winters. Maybe it was because she hadn't known Healer Winters in her old life, or maybe it was because she was bound by her Oaths. Ultimately, it didn't really matter.

"I can leave, if you want me to", Professor McGonagall offered. She had picked up on Hermione's glance and interpreted it correctly. "I only thought you might want me to be present as a familiar face."

Hermione didn't reply, she thought just dismissing her Professor would be respectless, but again, she didn't have to. Professor McGonagall stood up and vanished her chair, before exiting her office. When Hermione stayed quiet, Healer winters gently spoke up.

"You know I'm still bound by my Oaths. Anything you tell me will be treated with the utmost confidentiality."

"If you weren't bound by your Oaths, would it still be?"

"Of course."

 _It's easy for her to say that,_ Hermione thought, _it's not like she could ever prove the opposite._ She still believed it, though, and that was good enough.

"Bellatrix", she said.

"Black?", Healer Winters asked surprised. "Did she do anything?"

"No, nothing", Hermione admitted.

In this case, it was true.

"Can I cast a Diagnostic Charm on you?"

"You're a Healer, do you even need permission?"

"Should I take this as a 'yes'?"

Hermione nodded. She didn't feel a single thing when the charm hit her, and the shapes and colours popping up didn't tell her a single thing.

"What does it say?", she asked curiously.

"From what I can tell, you're much in the same condition as the last time we met. Your magical signatures have separated again, and your age seems blurred."

"My age?", Hermione asked surprised. She didn't think it was mentioned the last time around.

"Yes. At the beginning of the summer, you displayed two ages. Do you remember?"

"I suppose so", Hermione replied. She wasn't one hundred percent sure, but there seemed to be a memory confirming this.

"When you came back for you final checkup, you were firmly sixteen years old. Then, two months ago, you didn't have a definite age, as is the case right now."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that something with your Hereditary Magic appears to be even more unusual than it already is."

"Could you maybe elaborate a little more?"

"On what point exactly?"

"Well, to start with: What even _is_ Hereditary Magic?"

Now it was Healer Winters' turn to be surprised.

"You don't know?"

 _Is this something I_ should _know?_

"No matter. Hereditary Magic is, in the broadest sense of the term, when another wizard's or witch's magic is similar enough to yours that after their death, it doesn't dissipate into the environment but attaches itself to your own magic."

That was... interesting, and it had more implications than Hermione could even try to make sense of right now. Her fingers were itching for a quill and some parchment to write down everything before she forgot, though.

"What makes my case unusual?"

"First, your age. Hereditary Magic is believed impossible to occur after one's thirteenth birthday, as it is then the magic settles into maturity. And second, the disruption on your left arm, that you were adamant I don't see. It should have made the attachment impossible, regardless of your age."

"So. For all intents and purposes, I shouldn't even have this magic in the first place", Hermione said. "Is it like with organ donations, my body is rejecting the foreign magic?"

"Essentially, yes. How you know about organ transplants, though?"

"Oh, I'm interested in muggle stuff."

"Alright then."

They fell silent again. Suddenly, a though came to Hermione's mind.

"But wait, that doesn't make sense. If it's like the transplants, then how did my body accept the magic in the first place? At the final checkup, you said everything was alright."

"My theory is that something happened to aggravate the situation since then."

"Yes, but why-", Hermione was cut off by Healer Winters continuing to speak.

"The only way for the signatures to mix would have been if you were unconscious, or if you had projected essentially all your magic outwards."

"Why unconscious?"

"Magic is as much a physical as a mental force. Were your brain 'out of order' so to speak for an extended period of time, the disruption in your left arm could have been easily ignored, especially because the two signatures are extremely compatible apart from that."

"Alright, but I wasn't ever unconscious. Just asleep, and that doesn't count, does it?"

"No, the extended period I was speaking about would have to be at least seven days. Also, the brain is still active while you're sleeping."

"So the only other option would be for me to have projected my magic outwards", Hermione mused. "Is that something that can happen accidentally?"

"Yes, however at your age, I would think it wouldn't occur anymore."

At Hermione's questioning look, she once again elaborated.

"The current state of research states that Accidental Magic and Magical Projection are essentially the same."

"So what's the difference between projecting and wandless magic, then?"

"Are you sure you aren't a Ravenclaw?", Healer Winters chuckled. "From what I can remember, you would have fitted right in there."

"You were a Ravenclaw?", Hermione asked.

"I was. But back on topic. Wandless magic is shaped magic. Projected magic is raw magic."

"So like the magic you use to charge Runes? Would that mean wandlessly charging Runes is projecting?"

"Yes, exactly."

"I didn't do any of that either, though", Hermione countered. "The only thing I did is meditate, I think. It was like a switch flipped."

"How do you mean?", Healer Winters echoed Hermione's question from earlier.

"Just like I said. I was trying to do some research and wasn't really getting anywhere, so I decided to just take a break and clear my mind, and I just suddenly felt... good. Like I belonged."

"Hm." Healer Winters looked pensieve. "That shouldn't have been possible. Was there anything else you maybe did before that, something you usually wouldn't do, that maybe challenged your magic in a different way?"

Hermione hesitated. She didn't know if she should mention the Formalization.

"Need I remind you again that I will not breach your confidence?", Healer Winters asked gently.

 _Just tell her, Hermione_ , she admonished herself. _You want answers, don't you, and this is the only way to get them._

"I had taken part in a Formalization the morning of that day."

Healer Winters' eyes widened, and Hermione recognized her expression as desperately wanting to ask more questions. It was one she had worn many times before herself. As she had correctly gathered, however, Formalizations were usually kept private between the parties involved, and Healer Winters was holding back her questions for propriety's sake.

A part of Hermione was indignant – no knowledge should be withheld because of so flimsy a reason – but another part of her was quite glad she wouldn't need to go into further detail about something she was expected to keep quiet about.

"That might have been the reason, Miss Potter", Healer Winters finally said. "In old ceremonies such as this one's magic is directed outwards, much like projecting it, in order to directly mingle with the other participants'."

As realization struck, Hermione couldn't help the small gasp that escaped her.

"So, you mean to say that my magic and the Hereditary Magic I somehow got were projected out of my body and mixed there. Then, when I shut off my brain for once, my body more or less accepted this as fact, but the more time went on, the signatures started separating again because I was thinking more? But wait, you said the scar was part of one of the signatures, so that doesn't really make sense...", Hermione trailed off.

"Scar?", Healer Winters asked surprised.

Hermione internally cursed herself at her blunder.

"Never mind. Yes, the scar you talked about is part of your magical signature, but it is ultimately anchored to your body, and your mind's knowledge that it is there. So, without your body and mind, it stands to reason that it wouldn't hinder the magic from mixing. This is only a theory, however. There have been no other comparable cases."

"But how does that relate to my panic attacks, exactly?"

"Well, have you noticed anything that they had in common? Any triggers, perhaps?"

"Obviously, I don't remember everything", Hermione started. "And as for triggers, I don't know, does identity crisis count?"

"In this case, yes. It makes perfect sense, actually. At your age, many people are struggling with who they are."

"That's not how I meant", Hermione objected. "I meant, it feels like I'm two different people, and I don't know who I am anymore, and it just all overwhelms me."

"It almost sounds like whomever you Inherited the magic from isn't quite ready to let go of who they were in life yet."

 _No kidding. If I let go of Hermione Granger, I wouldn't be anyone anymore._

"So what's your advice?", Hermione asked instead.

"For now, it would probably be smart to write down all instances where you feel this disconnect, or when you feel close to another panic attack. Like that, it will be easier to possibly recognize a pattern, and then we'll work from there."

"Okay", Hermione agreed.

What was one more thing to keep track of?

"One last question, though."

Healer Winters waved her hands in a 'go ahead' motion.

"Why do you care?"

"Because you are my patient. I care about all of my patients."

"Why am I your patient, then? I looked you up, you know, and I know you're in training for Administrator. Isn't it counterproductive to take on someone new in that situation?"

"On the contrary, it brings me one step further to where I aspire to be."

Hermione frowned. "I don't understand."

"It is a well kept but still open secret that the Administrator of St. Mungo's Hospital has far more duties than to sign off paperwork. The Administrator is the one person with access to all research material of the Department of Mysteries, and therefore the expert on anything strange or unusual, as your case has proven to be."

 _Access to all research material of the Department of Mysteries,_ Hermione repeated in her head. She was _so_ jealous right now. But wait...

"Isn't that just asking for trouble? Only having one person with this kind of clearance? What if something happens to them before a successor could be trained, or there are several such cases that would require the attention of more than one person?"

"That is something I am unfortunately unable to answer, due to my Oaths. Be assured, however, that in all the history of this system being in place, it has never happened. There are precautions being taken."

Hermione desperately wanted to ask what kind of precautions, but she knew she wouldn't get an answer, and only make herself unpopular by continuing to poke her nose into things that she had no right to know.

"I will have to believe you, then", Hermione sighed.

"That you will", Healer Winters said. "Was there anything else?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

"Good. I will let Minerva know she can come back in, then."

Healer Winters left the office, leaving Hermione alone, but before she could decide if she wanted to give into her curiosity and get up and look around, Professor McGonagall entered the office again, Healer Winters directly behind her. She threw a cursory glance through the room to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything, said a quick goodbye and then stepped into the fireplace to Floo to St. Mungo's.

"I trust you have settled everything?", Professor McGonagall asked.

Hermione nodded.

"You don't have to tell me anything, but as I said, I am here should you ever need someone to talk to."

"Yes. Thank you, Professor."

"If there isn't anything else, I will see you this evening at eight, here in my office."

"Yes, Professor", Hermione said. "Goodbye. And thank you."

"Goodbye, Miss Potter. You're welcome", Professor McGonagall replied.

When she left the office after that, Hermione softly closed the door and went back to Gryffindor Tower. Real life was waiting for her.

* * *

It was a small miracle that Hermione didn't fall asleep during her classes that day. She was mentally, physically _and_ magically exhausted, and she struggled so much to keep her eyes open that the course material completely went past her. Luckily, they had a theory lesson in Potions – apparently Slughorn wasn't awake enough to pay attention to people brewing either – so she avoided the inevitable explosion in that one.

In Arithmancy, she solved every single equation wrongly, and it was a testament to her tiredness that she couldn't even find the energy to get irritated with herself. Ancient Runes passed similarly, one part theory and then some rune-drawing practice. Hers were all lopsided, and had she charged them, they would either have done nothing or exploded in her face.

Several people, among them her teachers, Gideon and Fabian and even Bellatrix had tried and failed to catch her attention during the day. Hermione had contemplated going to the Hospital Wing for a Pepper-Up potion, but from fear Madam Pomfrey would keep her, had decided against it. She had also decided against napping in her free periods. She didn't want to risk oversleeping and missing her classes. Not so much for fear of being behind afterwards, she knew that wasn't a risk, but for fear of having either Professor McGonagall or Madam Pomfrey find out. She didn't want her chess lessons to be canceled, and she didn't want to stay in the Infirmary either.

She was _fine_.

Well, not exactly, but whatever it was that was wrong with her wouldn't be fixed by lying uselessly around in a bed for an extended period of time. The worst, Hermione found, was having to stay awake for her detention in the evening. Otherwise, she would have gone to bed straight after Runes.

The twins especially were worried about her, and her unresponsiveness only made it worse, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. In the end, even they relented in their badgering. The worried looks they kept exchanging, however, were so obvious even Hermione picked up on them, and she knew she wouldn't be able to escape their questions forever. As long as they were leaving her alone, though, she didn't much care about that at the moment.

Time seemed to pass so much slower than usual, and still, in her haze of tiredness and exhaustion, it could have been a day or it could have been a minute before she had to make her way to Professor McGonagall's office. She was incredibly thankful she didn't meet anyone, and she felt like a zombie wandering the corridors. Raising her hand and knocking on the heavy oak doors had never felt so hard.

Only when the door opened and she stumbled inside did Hermione realize she had leaned against the door for support. As a result, she fell against Professor McGonagall with almost all her wight, knocking them both down.

"Miss Potter!", Professor McGonagall exclaimed. "What is the meaning of this?"

Hermione knew she should feel embarrassed, but through her exhaustion the feeling didn't manage to come to the surface.

"'msorry", she mumbled.

Now that she was finally in a horizontal position, the floor seemed magnetic. Professor McGonagall maneouvered them around and stood up, trying and failing to pull Hermione with her.

"Miss Potter?", she said again, though this time it was a question. "Are you alright?" Hermione wanted to confirm she was, she really did, but the floor was so soft, so inviting, and she was so tired that instead of her mouth opening and words coming out, her eyes closed and she fell asleep instantly.

* * *

That Saturday, Hermione luckily was fully rested. She had woken up in her bed on Friday morning, and her memories of what had passed before she had gone to sleep were hazy at best. She thought she had been in detention, and even though she couldn't remember a single thing that she did there, she was fairly sure that even in her exhausted state, she hadn't given away any crucial information.

She _had_ been awake enough to make it back into her dormitory, after all. Or so it seemed. It also seemed like she had completely slept through Thursday, a theory only supported by the thirst, hunger and need to pee she had felt on waking up.

Nonetheless, she was feeling a lot better now, almost back to normal, and that was definitely a good thing. It was the day of the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match, and she didn't want to break her promise to the twins that she would come and cheer them on.

From what she could see, it wasn't different at all from what she remembered it being in the future. The Slytherins still were an all-boys team, and played unfairly, bending if not outright breaking the rules whenever they could get away with it, and the Gryffindors were doing their very best to come out in top in spite of it.

Unlike the Weasley twins, Fabian and Gideon weren't Beaters but Chasers. The third Chaser was Patrick Johnson, her fellow prefect. She didn't know either of the beaters or the seeker. The keeper was Arthur Weasley, to her never ending surprise. Although, the Weasley children had to get their talent for Quidditch from _somewhere_ , didn't they?

On the Slytherin team, she recognized Lucius Malfoy as being the seeker, and she was pretty sure both Lestrange brothers were playing as well. If she had to guess, she would say Rodolphus was a chaser, and Rabastan a beater.

Despite the engaging commentary, however, she didn't quite manage to keep her attention focused on the game. She did cheer whenever Gryffindor scored, but that was about it. Standing there just made the memories hurt even more. The only good thing was that she wasn't dissociating.

The teams were still tied. Or again, rather. Not that it really made a difference. It was clear that whoever would catch the snitch would win. The energy in the stands was rising when Malfoy made a sudden turn and shot up into the sky.

"And he's seen the snitch. Malfoy has seen the snitch, and he's chasing it, alright. Oh, and here comes Baker, following him closely. Can he make up the distance? Malfoy has the superior broom, and he's in the lead already. Chances aren't good for Gryffindor, I'll say. But the game's still going.

"There we have the Gryffindor Chasers, attacking once more, maybe for the last time today? And there's Prewett with the Quaffle, passes to Prewett, to Johnson, back to Prewett, and there's Selwyn, intercepting him, and woah, look up here, the snitch seems to have turned around, the seekers both diving, Gryffindor now in the lead, and the Quaffle is back with Prewett, oh, there's a bludger heading right for Baker, and he doges it, but now Malfoy's caught up to him, and they're going downwards, Johnson has the Quaffle, and he scores, 120 to 110 for Gryffindor, and, a sharp turn from Baker, he's back in the game, Malfoy follows closely, they're head to head now, but what's that?

"Another bludger, heading towards them, they swerve in different directions, and it seems like Malfoy's closer to the snitch once again, and there's the Slytherin Chasers, making one last attempt at a goal, Weasley blocks, Johnson gets the Quaffle, passes to- No, he doesn't pass to Prewett, he throws the Quaffle towards the seekers, and could that have been on purpose? Malfoy has his arm out, the snitch is almost caught, he doesn't see the Quaffle heading towards him, knocking his arm to the side, and he looks to the side, seems like he's glaring at someone, oh, but he shouldn't have done that! Baker swoops in, and he catches the snitch, 270 to 110, Gryffindor wins!"

The cheering around Hermione was deafening. The Gryffindors were screaming and shouting, getting up from their seats and jumping up and down in celebration, making the stands tremble. Had Hermione not known they were reinforced with magic, and had she not experienced similar scenarios before, she would have seriously been afraid of it collapsing.

Hermione stood up and began to fight her way out of the masses. She wanted to congratulate the twins, and then get back as fast as possible, before the party started. There would be one, of that she was sure, and even though she was happy her House had won, she was not in a partying mood. She was shoved rudely several times in the course of leaving the stands, which did nothing to improve her temper.

She was out of breath and could feel several bruises forming where she had been impaled by her house mates' elbows when she finally made her way down to the dressing rooms. She knew better than to enter, but luckily for her, the time she had taken to find her way down there had been almost enough for everyone to change and shower. So she didn't have to wait long before the doors opened and the whole team exited.

"Congratulations", she said warmly to the twins once they were in front of her.

"Thanks", Gideon smiled.

"Patrick won us the game, though", Fabian teased.

"By accident only, I swear", Johnson said, but he was grinning widely.

"Accident or not, you did it", Gideon said.

"Listen, guys", Hermione began. "I don't think I'll be at the party."

"Why not?", Fabian asked surprised. "Don't you want to celebrate out win?"

"Honestly", Hermione said dryly. "No."

"But-"

"No. I really am not in the mood", she interrupted Fabian's protests. "And I won't ruin this for you."

Whatever Gideon was going to say, he didn't get to it as a loud voice could be heard from behind them.

"Don't worry about it, Lucius", someone said. "Rod will understand it there wasn't anything else you could have done."

"Indeed", a smooth voice said. Hermione had turned around and now saw Lucius Malfoy, walking with whom she supposed was Rabastan Lestrange, and coming up behind them was his brother Rodolphus. She recognized him from the Slug Club party.

"You have done your best, Malfoy, even though it wasn't enough."

He was the captain of the Slytherin team, Hermione guessed.

"I-", Malfoy started. "But my brother is right", Rodolphus continued as if Malfoy hadn't opened his mouth. "I cannot blame you for that. Had that mudblood not been so inept at aiming at the goal posts, we would have been victorious."

Hermione could feel the three boys stiffen at the insult, but that only registered at the very back of her mind. How often had she insulted herself like that, in her thoughts and even out loud sometimes? The associations she had with that word were a lot more negative than anyone else's, and with her temper already frayed, she couldn't help herself.

When the three Slytherins passed them, a cocky smile on Rodolphus's face that seemed to Hermione to be aimed at her specifically, mocking her, she spoke.

"What was that you said?"

They had heard her, she knew they did, but they didn't react, only ignored her as they walked by. And she wouldn't take it. Nobody deserved to be insulted like that, not ever and especially not when she was there to hear it. So, she sent a silent and wandless Stinging Hex at them, and it hit Rodolphus straight in the middle of his back.

He whirled around immediately, his wand out and his eyes narrowed, focusing on all of them in turn before finally settling on Hermione. The energy around them seemed to change, the air growing heavy with tension and magic. Hermione could almost feel it whirling inside of her, pushing to get out, to discharge.

"Who was that?", Rodolphus hissed, although it was clear he knew it had been Hermione.

She could feel the confusion of the three boys behind her, and for once she was glad they wouldn't be standing up for her. Had it been Harry, he already would have stepped forward, taking the blame for whatever it was. But this was a battle she needed to fight for herself.

"I did", she said quietly but firmly and took a small step forward.

One of the three sucked in a harsh breath behind her. Whoever it was, he was quicker on the uptake than the other two.

"Care to repeat what you said?"

"How about you do the same?", Hermione retorted.

"I didn't say anything", Rodolphus said.

Through the haze of her anger, Hermione almost didn't notice the genuine confusion that tinged his words. It was the only thing that held her back from cursing him outright.

" _Mudblood_ ", she hissed.

Maybe she only imagined it, but she felt her scar twinge at the word, coming from her. It had never done that before.

" _That's_ what you said. Take it back."

Rodolphus laughed mockingly.

"Why should I? It's the truth, after all. You should know. After all, you're one of us, Gryffindor though you may be. As are they", he nodded to the twins.

"I will _never_ be one of _you_."

"You don't have a choice."

Briefly, Hermione wondered if they were even having the same conversation at the moment, but quickly discarded that thought. It didn't matter, anyway.

"Now that that's cleared up, though", Rodolphus continued. "You hexed me", he said, and his voice suddenly seemed that much deeper, more dangerous than before. "I will get you back for that."

"You won't", Hermione said. "Not now. There's witnesses. And you don't have numbers on your side."

Rodolphus scoffed. "I don't need numbers to win against you. I have Rab and Malfoy here, they're much more qualified than the Identicals behind you will ever be."

"We have names, you know", Fabian called.

It seemed the time had come for them to intervene. But dammit, she didn't _want_ them to intervene. This was _her_ battle.

"Yes, and what about me, or Johnson? We all take Defence. We can duel."

"Yeah, _right_. I'm trembling", Rodolphus said dryly. "What good can _you_ do, anyway? You're an insufferable know-it-all, not a fighter. And _him_... he's just a mudbl-"

"Stupefy!"

Rodolphus didn't get to complete his sentence before Hermione's spell cut him off. Immediately, there was another spell cast, this time directed at her, and even though she instinctively ducked, she remembered the three people behind her in time to put up a shield. It was shattered by the spell, also a Stunner, Hermione registered, but the curse was destroyed along with it.

Her mind was turning, taking in her situation fully, and even as she could feel the three boys behind her prepare to attack Malfoy and Lestrange the younger, she noticed something. Rabastan had cast a spell, true, but its purpose had not been to attack her, but to wake his brother up, which he had succeeded at doing. The stunner she had blocked had come from a different source.

Behind the three Slytherins, come to see her boyfriend and congratulate him on the game, or perhaps continue to spew hateful prejudice towards the Gryffindors, one muggleborn chaser by the name of Patrick Johnson in particular, was Bellatrix Black. And she was smirking.

"And what do we have here?", she asked rhetorically. "The little teacher's pet getting up to no good? Oh, wait, don't tell me. You're only getting some _practical experience in duelling_."

The sarcasm dropping from Bellatrix's words was so heavy, Hermione was almost impressed she wasn't being weighed down by it.

"And what do we have here?", she instead echoed the other witch's question. "Coming to your boyfriend's rescue? Have to fight his battles for him?"

Hermione's could have sworn Bellatrix chuckled, if only a little.

"As a matter of fact, I do", she replied, unexpectedly serious.

She was coming closer now, completely ignoring the fighting that had broken out between the boys, intuitively sidestepping a stray curse heading her way. Hermione wouldn't let herself be backed in a corner again, however. Not today, and not now.

She started walking away briskly, first towards Bellatrix and then passing her, out into the open. The stadium was emptying quickly now, most of the students were already on their way back to the castle. She really wanted to start throwing curses, just to relieve herself of some of the tension she felt, get it out of her system so to speak, but she knew that wouldn't be smart. She had spent the last few days magically exhausted, and even though she was well enough now, she definitely shouldn't push it unnecessarily.

Her hope of getting back to get her stuff and flee to the library before the party started was futile now, not to mention that she wouldn't be able to concentrate with all that adrenaline still running high anyways. There was nowhere she could go. Except... the Room of Requirement. She had never truly forgotten about its existence, but for some reason, she had also never really thought about it either. She had just avoided it altogether.

Maybe because Hermione Potter didn't know about it? Did that even matter?

She looked back once, but it seemed like Bellatrix hadn't followed her. From what she could tell, spells were still flying. Should she try to break them up? Prevent the three boys from getting hurt? Especially with Bellatrix in there with them, they wouldn't last long. Undecided, Hermione stood on the grass.

 _I can't_ , she realized after a moment. She wasn't feeling up to it at all, and it would take more than one well-placed spell to stop the fight. And she couldn't throw herself into it. She didn't have the energy, and she also suspected she didn't have the mental strength to separate the current situation from the Battle of Hogwarts.

The people were the same, the location was the same, and her memories had never truly stopped haunting her. She knew flashbacks were a thing people had, and it was something she would rather not experience. Ever. It was enough to have to live though everything night after night, although that had been getting a lot better ever since she had 'arrived' in this time.

Could she do it though? Could she just walk away? She knew herself well enough to know she would be beating herself up for any injuries they received because she didn't intervene. Especially because it was er who had started the fight in the first place.

 _Death Eaters or not,_ her mind whispered, _they're just students now. They wouldn't do anything that could get them expelled. And some things even gold and your family name cannot compensate for._

With a heavy sigh, Hermione turned around to the castle, her steps now swift and assured. She had reprimanded Harry often enough for always rushing into danger to save people. And while the situation wasn't exactly the same, it was comparable, at least in her mind.

The twins could hold their own, from what she had seen in class, and Johnson... Well, she didn't know, to be honest. But they were up against one seventh and two fifth years. They had a chance.

Or at least that's what Hermione told herself over and over again as she started climbing the Grand Staircase.

Sometimes, she felt, you had to be selfish.

* * *

 **Alright, so my semester is officially over. I'm hoping that, now that I have more time and I'm _hopefully_ over my writer's block as well, the time between updates will become shorter again. No guarantees though. **

**Also, if you enjoyed the chapter (or even if you didn't) please do consider leaving a review. They make me happy :)**


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